fC-NRLF 


LEAYES 


FROM   THE 


BOOK    OF    HUMAN    LIFE. 


LEAVES 


FROM    THE 


BOOK  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


BY  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 


THIRTY-ONE   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BOSTON: 
L.  P.  CROWN  &  CO.  61  CORNHILL. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

J,  W.  BRADLEY,  N.  FOURTH  ST.  * 
1856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1553.  by 
T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  th<?  Ka.«tftra 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  co. 

riULAUELl'HIA. 


A-77 

L43 


PREFACE. 


WE  turn,  here,  a  few  leaves  in  the  great  Book  of 
Human  Life.  The  writing  thereon,  though  occasionally 
less  grave  than  gay,  is  not  without  its  lessons  of  wisdom. 
If,  at  any  scene  portrayed  or  any  sentiment  uttered,  the 
reader  should  smile,  we  are  sure  it  will  not  be  at  rude 
vulgarity,  heartless  wit,  or  the  triumph  of  strength  over 
weakness.  While  we  offer,  in  these  pages,  a  pleasant 
recreation  for  leisure  hours,  it  is  such  a  recreation  as 
will,  we  trust,  leave  the  mind  active  with  good  purposes 
and  kindly  sympathies. 


iii 


M119129 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  WIFE 6 

THE  DEAD  DOVE 15 

UNCLE  BASIL'S  VALENTINE 19 

KATE'S  VALENTINE 23 

THE  RED  EAR;  on,  THE  HUSKING  FROLIC 31 

COOKS 39 

COUNTRY  BOARDING 49 

LARGE  STORIES 78 

"ANY  THING  OVER  TO-DAY?" 82 

THROWING  DUST  IN  PEOPLE'S  EYES 94 

THE  PUNCTUAL  MAN 100 

SHORT  OP  FUEL 108 

THE  FIRST  CIGAR 117 

JANUARY  BILLS 125 

DISCOVERING  A  LEAK I33 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  ELOPEMENT 140 

THE  DROP  GAME 118 

LAB  AN  LEE'S  BUTTER  SPECULATION 158 

THE  SURPRISE  PARTY 16f 

TAKING  CARE  OF  NUMBER  ONE 18* 

THE  STREET  SMOKER 18% 

THE  SPRING  BONNET 20* 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  THE  ELECTION 2U 

THE  LOVE-LETTER 25* 

THE  HASTY  MARRIAGE.. 26*» 

THE  APRIL  FOOL , 28? 

COLD  WATER  WEDDING '. 293 

Two  SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A  CIIY  BELLE 319 


The  Wife. 


THE  WIPE. 


"  I  AM  hopeless  !"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  voice  that 
was  painfully  desponding.  "  Utterly  hopeless  !  Heaven 
knows  I  have  tried  hard  to  get  employment !  But  no  one 
has  need  of  my  service.  The  pittance  doled  out  by  your 
father,  and  which  comes  with  a  sense  of  humiliation  that 
is  absolutely  heart-crushing,  is  scarcely  sufficient  to  pro 
vide  this  miserable  abode,  and  keep  hunger  from  our  door. 
But  for  your  sake,  I  would  not  touch  a  shilling  of  his 
money,  if  I  starved." 

"  Hush,  dear  Edward !"  returned  the  gentle  girl,  who 
had  left  father,  mother,  and  a  pleasant  home,  to  share  the 
lot  of  him  she  loved ;  and  she  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips, 
while  she  drew  her  arm  around  him. 

"  Agnes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  cannot  endure  this 
life  much  longer.  The  native  independence  of  my  charac 
ter  revolts  at  our  present  condition.  Months  have  elapsed, 
and  yet  the  ability  I  possess  finds  no  employment.  In 
this  country,  every  avenue  is  crowded." 

The  room  in  which  they  were  overlooked  the  sea. 

"  But  there  is  another  land,  where,  if  what  we  hear  be 
true,  ability  finds  employment  and  talent  a  sure  reward." 
And,  as  Agnes  said  this,  in  a  voice  of  encouragement,  she 
pointed  from  the  window  toward  the  expanse  of  waters 
that  stretched  far  away  toward  the  south  and  west. 

"  America  !"  The  word  was  uttered  in  a  quick,  earnest 
voice. 

"Yes." 

"  Agnes,  I  thank  you  for  this  suggestion  !  Return  to 
the  pleasant  home  you  left  for  one  who  cannot  procure  for 

1*  5 


'6  THE    WIFE. 

you  even  the  plainest  comforts  of  life,  and  I  will  cross  the 
ocean  to  seek  a  better  fortune  in  that  land  of  promise. 
The  separation,  painful  to  both,  will  not,  I  trust,  be  long." 

"Edward,"  replied  the  young  wife,  with  enthusiasm, 
as  she  drew  her  arm  more  tightly  about  his  neck,  "  I  will 
never  leave  thee  or  forsake  thee.  Where  thou  goest  I  will 
go,  and  where  thou  diest  I  will  die.  Thy  people  shall  be 
my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God." 

"Would  you  forsake  all,"  said  Edward,  in  surprise, 
"  and  go  far  away  with  me  into  a  strange  land  ?" 

"  It  will  be  no  stranger  to  me  than  it  will  be  to  you, 
Edward." 

•4No,  no,  Agnes!  I  will  not  think  of  that,"  said 
Edward  Marvel,  in  a  positive  voice.  "  If  I  go  to  that 
land  of  promise,  it  must  first  be  alone." 

"  Alone !"  A  shadow  fell  over  the  face  of  Agnes. 
"Alone!  It  cannot — it  must  not  be!" 

"But  think,  Agnes.  If  I  go  alone,  it  will  cost  me  but 
a  small  sum  to  live  until  I  find  some  business,  which  may 
not  be  for  weeks,  or  even  months,  after  I  arrive  in  'the 
New  World." 

"  What  if  you  were  to  be  sick  ?"  The  frame  of  Agnes 
slightly  quivered  as  she  made  the  suggestion. 

"We  will  not  think  of  that." 

"I  cannot  help  thinking  of  it,  Edward.  Therefore 
entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  nor  to  return  from  following 
after  thee.  Where  thou  goest,  I  will  go." 

Marvel's  countenance  became  more  serious. 

"Agnes,"  said  the  young  man,  after  he  had  reflected 
for  some  time,  "let  us  think  no  more  about  this.  I  can 
not  take  you  far  away  to  this  strange  country.  We  will 
go  back  to  London.  Perhaps  another  trial  there  may  be 
more  successful." 

After  a  feeble  opposition  on  the  part  of  Agnes,  it  was 
finally  agreed  that  Edward  should  go  once  more  to  Lon 
don,  while  she  made  a  brief  visit  to  her  parents.  If  he 
found  employment,  she  was  to  join  him  immediately ;  if 
not  successful,  they  were  then  to  talk  further  of  the 
journey  to  America. 

With  painful  reluctance,  Agnes  went  back  to  her 
father's  house,  the  door  of  which  ever  stood  open  to  re- 


THE    WIFE.  7 

ceive  her ;  and  she  went  back  alone.  The  pride  of  her 
husband  would  not  permit  him  to  cross  the  threshold  of  a 
dwelling  where  his  presence  was  not  a  welcome  one.  In 
eager  suspense,  she  waited  for  a  whole  week  ere  a  letter 
came  from  Edward.  The  tone  of  this  letter  was  as  cheer 
ful  and  as  hopeful  as  it  was  possible  for  the  young  man  to 
write.  But,  as  yet,  he  had  found  no  employment.  A 
week  elapsed  before  another  came.  It  opened  in  these 
words : — 

"  MY  DEAR  DEAR  AGNES  !  Hopeless  of  doing  any  thing 
here,  I  have  turned  my  thoughts  once  more  to  the  land 
of  promise ;  and  when  you  receive  this,  I  will  be  on  my 
journey  thitherward.  Brief,  very  brief,  I  trust,  will  be 
our  separation.  The  moment  I  obtain  employment,  I  will 
send  for  you,  and  then  our  reunion  will  take  place  with  a 
fulness  of  delight  such  as  we  have  not  yet  experienced." 

Long,  tender,  and  hopeful  was  the  letter  ;  but  it  brought 
a  burden  of  grief  and  heart-sickness  to  the  tender  young 
creature,  who  felt  almost  as  if  she  had  been  deserted  by  the 
one  who  was  dear  to  her  as  her  own  life. 

Only  a  few  days  had  Edward  Marvel  been  at  sea,  when 
he  became  seriously  indisposed;  and,  for  the  remaining 
part  of  the  voyage,  was  so  ill  as  to  be  unable  to  rise  from 
his  berth.  He  had  embarked  in  a  packet  ship  from  Liver 
pool  bound  for  New  York,  where  he  arrived,  at  the  expira 
tion  of  five  weeks.  There  he  was  removed  to  the  sick 
wards  of  the  hospital  on  Staten  Island,  and  it  was  the 
opinion  of  the  physicians  there  that  he  would  die. 

"  Have  you  friends  in  this  country?"  inquired  a  nurse 
who  was  attending  the  young  man.  This  question  was 
asked  on  the  day  after  he  had  become  an  inmate  of  the 
hospital. 

"None,"  was  the  feebly  uttered  reply. 

"You  are  very  ill,"  said  the  nurse. 

The  sick  man  looked  anxiously  into  the  face  of  hia 
attendant. 

"  You  have  friends  in  England  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  any  communication  to  make  to  them  ?" 


8  THE    WIFE. 

Marvel  closed  his  eyes,  and  remained  for  some  time 
silent. 

"  If  you  will  get  me  a  pen  and  some  paper,  I  will  write 
a  few  lines,"  said  he,  at  length. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  too  weak  for  the  effort,"  replied 
the  nurse. 

"Let  me  try,"  was  briefly  answered. 

The  attendant  left  the  room. 

"  Is  there  any  one  in  your  part  of  the  house  named 
Marvel  ?"  asked  a  physician,  meeting  the  nurse  soon  after 
she  had  left  the  sick  man's  room.  "  There's  a  young 
woman  down  in  the  office  inquiring  for  a  person  of  that 
name." 

"  Marvel — Marvel  ?"     The  nurse  shook  her  head. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?"  remarked  the  physician. 

"  I'm  certain  there  is  no  one  by  that  name  for  whom 
any  here  would  make  inquiries.  There's  a  young  English 
man  who  came  over  in  the  last  packet,  whose  name  is 
something  like  that  you  mention.  But  he  has  no  friends 
in  this  country." 

The  physician  passed  on,  without  further  remark. 

Soon  after,  the  nurse  returned  to  Marvel  with  the 
writing  materials  for  which  he  had  asked.  She  drew  a 
table  to  the  side  of  his  bed,  and  supported  him  as  he 
leaned  over  and  tried,  with  an  unsteady  hand,  to  write. 

"Have  you  a  wife  at  home?"  asked  the  nurse;  her 
eyes  had  rested  on  the  first  words  he  wrote. 

"Yes,"  sighed  the  young  man,  as  the  pen  dropped 
from  his  fingers,  and  he  leaned  back  heavily,  exhausted 
by  even  the  slight  effort  he  had  made. 

"  Your  name  is  Marvel  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  A  young  woman  was  here  just  now  inquiring  if  we 
had  a  patient  by  that  name." 

"  By  my  name  ?"  There  was  a  slight  indication  of 
surprise. 

"Yes." 

Marvel  closed  his  eyes,  and  did  not  speak  for  some 
moments. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  he  asked  at  length,  evincing  somo 
interest. 


THE    WIPE.  9 

"Yes." 

"  Did  she  find  the  one  for  whom  she  was  seeking  ?" 

"  There  is  no  person  here,  except  yourself,  whose  name 
came  near  to  the  one  she  mentioned.  As  you  said  you 
had  no  friends  in  this  country,  we  did  not  suppose  that 
you  were  meant." 

"No,  no."  And  the  sick  man  shook  his  head  "slowly. 
"  There  is  none  to  ask  for  me."  "  Did  you  say  it  was 
a  young  woman  ?"  he  inquired,  soon  after.  His  mind 
dwelt  on  the  occurrence. 

"  Yes.  A  young  woman  with  a  fair  complexion  and 
deep  blue  eyes." 

Marvel  looked  up  quickly  into  the  face  of  the  attendant, 
while  a  flush  came  into  his  cheeks. 

"  She  was  a  slender  young  girl,  with  light  hair,  and 
her  face  was  pale,  as  from  trouble." 

"  Agnes  !  Agnes  !"  exclaimed  Marvel,  rising  up.  "But 
no,  no,"  he  added,  mournfully,  sinking  back  again  upon 
the  bed ;  "  that  cannot  be.  I  left  her  far  away  over  the 
wide  ocean." 

"  Will  you  write  ?"  said  the  nurse,  after  some  moments. 

The  invalid,  without  unclosing  his  eyes,  slowly  shook 
his  head.  A  little  while  the  attendant  lingered  in  his 
room,  and  then  retired. 

"  Dear,  dear  Agnes !"  murmured  Edward  Marvel, 
closing  his  eyes,  and  letting  his  thoughts  go,  swift-winged, 
across  the  billowy  sea.  "  Shall  I  never  look  on  your 
sweet  face  again  ?  Never  feel  your  light  arms  about  my 
neck,  or  your  breath  warm  on  my  cheek  ?  Oh,  that  I  had 
never  left  you !  Heaven  give  thee  strength  to  bear  the 
trouble  in  store !" 

For  many  minutes  he  lay,  thus  alone,  with  his  eyes 
closed,  in  sad  self-communion.  Then  he  heard  the  door 
open  and  close  softly ;  but  he  did  not  look  up.  His 
thoughts  were  far,  far  away.  Light  feet  approached 
quickly ;  but  he  scarcely  heeded  them.  A  form  bent 
over  him ;  but  his  eyes  remained  shut,  nor  did  he  open 
them  until  warm  lips  were  pressed  against  his  own,  and  a 
low  voice,  thrilling  through  his  whole  being,  said — 

"Edward!" 

"Agnes !"  was  his  quick  response,  while  his  arms  were 


10  THE    WIFE. 

thrown  eagerly  around  the  neck  of  his  wife.  •'  Agnes  ! 
Agnes  !  Have  I  awakened  from  a  fearful  dream  ?" 

Yes,  it  was  indeed  her  of  whom  he  had  been  thinking. 
The  moment  she  received  his  letter,  informing  her  that 
he  had  left  for  the  United  States,  she  resolved  to  follow 
him  in  the  next  steamer  that  sailed.  This  purpose  she 
immediately  avowed  to  her  parents.  At  first,  they  would 
not  listen  to  her;  but,  finding  that  she  would,  most 
probably,  elude  their  vigilance,  and  get  away  in  spite  of 
all  efforts  to  prevent  her,  they  deemed  it  more  wise  and 
prudent  to  provide  her  with  every  thing  necessary  for  the 
voyage,  and  to  place  her  in  the  care  of  the  captain  of  the 
steamship  in  which  she  was  to  go.  In  New  York  they  had 
friends,  to  whom  they  gave  her  letters  fully  explanatory 
of  her  mission,  and  earnestly  commending  her  to  their 
care  and  protection. 

Two  weeks  before  the  ship  in  which  Edward  Marvel 
sailed  reached  her  destination,  Agnes  was  in  New  York. 
Before  her  departure,  she  had  sought,  but  in  vain,  to  dis 
cover  the  name  of  the  vessel  in  which  her  husband  had 
embarked.  On  arriving  in  the  New  World,  she  was  there 
fore  uncertain  whether  he  had  preceded  her  in  a  steamer, 
or  was  still  lingering  on  the  way. 

The  friends  to  whom  Agnes  brought  letters  received 
her  with  great  kindness,  and  gave  her  all  the  advice  and 
assistance  needed  under  the  circumstances.  But  two 
weeks  went  by  without  a  word  of  intelligence  on  the  one 
subject  that  absorbed  all  her  thoughts.  Sadly  was  her 
health  beginning  to  suffer.  Sunken  eyes  and  pale  cheeks 
attested  the  weight  of  suffering  that  was  on  her. 

One  day  it  was  announced  that  a  Liverpool  packet  had 
arrived  with  the  ship  fever  on  board,  and  that  several  of 
the  passengers  had  been  removed  to  the  hospital. 

A  thrill  of  fear  went  through  the  heart  of  the  anxious 
wife.  It  was  soon  ascertained  that  Marvel  had  been  a 
passenger  on  board  of  this  vessel ;  but,  from  some  cause, 
nothing  in  regard  to  him  beyond  this  fact  could  she  learn. 
Against  all  persuasion,  she  started  for  the  hospital,  her 
heart  oppressed  with  a  fearful  presentiment  that  he  was 
either  dead  or  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  a  fatal  malady. 
On  making  inquiry  at  the  hospital,  she  was  told  the  one 


THE    WIFE.  11 

she  sought  was  not  there,  and  she  was  about  returning  to 
the  city  when  the  truth  reached  her  ears. 

"  Is  he  very  ill  ?"  she  asked,  struggling  to  compose 
herself. 

"  Yes,  he  is  extremely  ill,"  was  the  reply.  "  And  it 
might  not  be  well  for  you,  under  the  circumstances,  to  see 
him  at  present." 

"Not  well  for  his  wife  to  see  him?"  returned  Agnes. 
Tears  sprung  to  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  not  being  per 
mitted  to  come  near  in  his  extremity.  "  Do  not  say  that. 
Oh,  take  me  to  him !  I  will  save  his  life." 

"You  must  be  very  calm,"  said  the  nurse;  for  it  was 
with  her  she  was  talking.  "  The  least  excitement  may  be 
fatal." 

"  Oh,  I  will  be  calm  and  prudent."  Yet,  even  while 
she  spoke,  her  frame  quivered  with  excitement. 

But  she  controlled  herself  when  the  moment  of  meeting 
came,  and,  though  her  unexpected  appearance  produced 
a  shock,  it  was  salutary  rather  than  injurious. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Agnes  !"  said  Edward  Marvel,  a  month 
from  this  time,  as  they  sat  alone  in  the  chamber  of  a 
pleasant  house  in  New  York,  "  I  owe  you  my  life.  But 
for  your  prompt  resolution  to  follow  me  across  the  sea,  I 
would,  in  all  probability,  now  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
death.  Oh,  what  would  I  not  suffer  for  your  sake !" 

As  Marvel  uttered  the  last  sentence,  a  troubled  ex 
pression  flitted  over  his  countenance.  Agnes  gazed  ten 
derly  into  his  face,  and  asked — 

"  Why  this  look  of  doubt  and  anxiety  ?" 

"Need  I  answer  the  question?"  returned  the  young 
man.  "  It  is,  thus  far,  no  better  with  me  than  when  we 
left  our  old  home.  Though  health  is  coming  back  through 
every  fibre,  and  my  heart  is  filled  with  an  eager  desire  to 
relieve  these  kind  friends  of  the  burden  of  our  support, 
yet  no  prospect  opens." 

No  cloud  came  stealing  darkly  over  the  face  of  the 
young  wife.  The  sunshine,  so  far  from  being  dimmed, 
was  brighter. 

"Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,"  said  she,  with  a 
beautiful  smile.  "All  will  come  out  right." 


12  T II  E    W I F  E. 

"  Right,  Agnes  ?  It  is  not  right  for  me  thus  to  depend 
on  strangers." 

"  You  need  depend  but  a  little  while  longer.  I  have 
already  made  warm  friends  here,  and,  through  them, 
secured  for  you  employment.  A  good  place  awaits  you 
so  soon  as  strength  to  fill  it  comes  back  to  your  weakened 
frame." 

"Angel!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  overcome  with 
emotion  at  so  unexpected  a  declaration. 

"No,  not  an  angel,"  calmly  replied  Agnes,  "only  a 
wife.  And  now,  dear  Edward,"  she  added,  "never  again, 
in  any  extremity,  think  for  a  moment  of  meeting  trials  or 
enduring  privations  alone.  Having  taken  a  wife,  you 
cannot  move  safely  on  your  journey  unless  she  moves  by 
your  side." 

"Angel!  Yes,  you  are  my  good  angel,"  repeated 
Edward. 

"  Call  me  what  you  will,"  said  Agnes,  with  a  sweet 
smile,  as  she  brushed,  with  her  delicate  hand,  the  hair 
from  his  temples ;  "  but  let  me  be  your  wife.  I  ask  no 
better  name,  no  higher  station." 


The  Dead  Dove. 


THE  DEAD  DOVE. 


U!T  is  only  a  bird,  Ada,"  said  the  young  lover  of  the 
gentle  girl ;  "why  should  you  grieve  over  its  death?" 

"  If  the  song  sparrow  had  died,  or  the  little  wren,  or 
even  the  robin,"  replied  Ada,  sadly,  "my  heart  would 
not  have  felt  the  pain  that  now  oppresses  it ;  but  to  look 
upon  a  dead  dove  touches  my  feelings  deeply." 

"  But  why  should  you  feel  more  pain  because  a  dove 
has  died  ?  Its  life  is  the  same  as  the  life  of  a  robin,  a 
sparrow,  or  a  wren." 

"  No,  not  the  same,  Henry." 

"  Wherein  lies  the  difference  ?" 

"Are  not  their  bodies  different?" 

"Oh  yes." 

"  It  is  because  their  lives  are  different  that  their  bodies 
vary  in  appearance :  each  is  a  form  of  affection ;  the 
sparrow  of  one  affection,  and  the  dove  of  another.  And 
this  is  the  reason  why,  in  looking  upon  one,  we  are  affected 
differently  from  what  we  are  when  we  look  at  another." 

"A  strange  doctrine,  Ada,  is  it  not?" 

"  Oh  no.  What  makes  the  wolf  differ  from  the  lamb  ? 
Is  it  not  his  affection,  of  which  his  body  is  the  repulsive 
form  ?  The  wolf  is  embodied  cruelty,  and  the  lamb  is 
embodied  innocence.  And  how  good  is  our  all-wise  and 
merciful  Creator  in  thus  placing  before  our  eyes,  in  this 
world,  embodied  affections,  that  we  may  the  more  fully 
understand  their  evil  or  good  qualities !  When  we  look 
upon  a  cruel  beast,  we  have  a  more  perfect  idea  of  the 
direful  nature  of  those  affections  in  our  hearts  which 
originate  in  self-love ;  and  when  we  look  at  an  innocent 

15 


16  THE    DEAD    DOVE. 

lamb,  or  a  gentle  dove,  we  perceive  the  beauty  of  good 
affections." 

"  Yours  is  a  beautiful  theory,  Ada ;  and,  if  true,  how 
full  of  life !  With  what  new  eyes  would  I  look  around 
me  on  the  visible  forms  of  nature,  if  I  could  believe  as 
you  believe." 

"  I  cannot  believe  otherwise,"  said  Ada,  as  she  lifted 
her  eyes  from  the  bird  in  her  hand,  and  looked  tenderly 
at  her  lover. 

"And  this  dove — to  what  affection  does  it  correspond, 
and  why  are  you  so  deeply  touched  by  its  death  ?" 

"  Need  you  ask,  Henry  ?  Is  it  not  the  embodied  form 
of  a  pure,  confiding  love — such  love  as  only  a  woman's 
heart  can  feel  ?  And  do  you  wonder  that  I  am  pained  to 
see  the  death  of  such  a  love  ?  Can  I  help  thinking  of 
woman's  trusting  heart  betrayed  ? — of  affection  trampled 
out  under  the  foot  of  neglect  and  wrong  ?"  And  tears 
came  into  the  eyes  of  the  pure-hearted  girl. 

"Dear  Ada!"  said  the  young  man,  earnestly,  "why 
will  you  let  such  painful  thoughts  come  into  your  mind  ? 
They  have  no  business  there  :  your  heart  will  never  know 
betrayal ;  your  affection  will  never  be  trampled  out  under 
the  crushing  foot  of  neglect." 

"I  did  not  think  of  myself,"  returned  Ada,  quickly; 
"I  thought  only  of  others." 

The  young  man  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  then  their 
eyes  drooped  from  each  other's,  and  rested  upon  the  form 
of  the  dead  dove. 

"Never  shall  her  heart  feel  the  pangs  of  neglect; 
never,  no,  never!"  said  the  lover,  in  earnest  self-com 
munion. 

May  his  words  prove  a  true  prophecy ;  and  if,  in  after 
life,  his  heart  swerve,  even  for  an  instant,  from  its  affec 
tion,  may  the  form  of  the  dead  dove  present  itself,  and 
warn  him  of  the  ruin  his  infidelity  would  occasion ! 


UNCLE  BASIL'S  VALENTINE. 


UNCLE  BASIL  ;  dear  old  man  !  It's  a  shame  for  me  to 
play  off  my  tricks  upon  him.  But  it  seems  as  if  I  couldn't 
help  it,  sometimes.  He's  such  a  fine  "subject," — so 
.earnest-hearted,  so  strangely  literal  and  simple-minded 
for  a  man  who  has  passed  along  through  the  world  of 
business,  and  gained  the  ripe  age  of  three  score  and  five 
years. 

Dear  old  man  !  Well  may  I  say  that ;  for  he  has  been 
to  me,  since  the  light  of  my  fifth  summer  shone  upon  my 
head,  in  the  place  of  father,  mother  and  friend.  And  do 
I  not  love  him  ?  How  warmly  my  heart  responds  to  the 
question  ! 

And  yet,  for  all,  I  can't  help  teasing  him,  now  and 
then.  The  fun  is  in  me,  and  must  come  out. 

"Hetty,"  said  he,  looking  up  from  his  newspaper  one 
evening — he  has  such  a  passion  for  newspapers — "  Hetty, 
I  suppose  you  know  that  Valentine's  day  is  but  a  week 
off." 

"Valentine's  day!"  The  remark  was  so  abrupt,  and 
said  in  such  a  meaning  tone,  that,  in  spite  of  me,  I 
couldn't  keep  the  blood  from  mounting  to  my  face.  I  had 
no  cause  for  blushes,  and  yet  the  blushes  came. 

"  Yes,  Valentine's  day  !  What  is  the  matter  with  the 
girl?  Aha!" 

I  blushed  deeper  still.  How  vexed  I  was.  There  was 
no  cause  for  blushes.  This,  to  thee,  reader,  upon  honour  ! 
"No  lover,  then?"  On  the  word  of  a  maiden  of  seven 
teen,  no  !  You  are  convinced,  of  course. 

"Aha  !  my  little  lady  !  what  does  all  this  mean?" 

19 


20  UNCLE  BASIL'S  VALENTINE. 

And  uncle  Basil  fixed  his  eyes  keenly  upon  me. 

My  face  was  now  like  scarlet.  Finding  all  efforts  to  re 
gain  self-possession  fruitless,  I  sprang  from  my  chair  and 
left  the  room. 

For  very  vexation  I  cried  on  entering  my  chamber. 

"  Never  mind !  you'll  pay  for  this,"  said  I,  after  my 
heart  beat  calmly  again.  "  You'll  pay  for  this,  my  dear, 
good  old  bachelor  uncle  !  Valentine's  day,  is  it  ?  Very 
well." 

I  punished  the  old  gentleman  by  not  letting  him  see 
the  light  of  my  countenance  again  until  the  next  morning 
at  breakfast.  Then  I  was  all  smiles,  and  in  perfect  self- 
possession.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  little  inci 
dent  of  the  previous  evening,  but  I  had  not. 

On  that  very  day,  I  went  out  and  selected  a  valentine. 
It  had  on  it  a  great  red  heart,  pierced  by  an  arrow  from 
Cupid's  quiver.  Two  whole  hours  were  spent  in  compos 
ing  suitable  verses  to  grace  the  love  missive,  which  I  laid 
carefully  by  until  the  thirteenth  of  February,  when  it  was 
committed  to  post-office  guardianship,  directed  to  "  Basil 
Jones,  Esq." 

On  the  next  morning,  as  we  sat  at  breakfast,  Uncle 
Basil  looked  at  me  archly  and  said — 

"  Has  that  valentine  come  yet  ?" 

I  wanted  to  blush,  but  couldn't.  I  tried  to  look  con 
fused,  but  my  countenance  would  not  play  hypocrite.  I 
was  too  merry  at  heart. 

Our  meal  ended,  the  old  gentleman  retired  to  the  sit 
ting-room,  to  read  the  morning  papers,  and  wait  for  John, 
who  had  gone,  as  usual,  to  the  post-office,  to  return  with 
his  letters.  It  seemed  to  me  that  John  staid  a  long  while. 
At  last  I  heard  him  enter,  and  listened  to  his  steps  as  he 
made  his  way  to  my  uncle's  apartment.  As  soon  as  he 
withdrew,  I  went,  on  tip-toe,  to  the  door  of  the  room, 
which  happened  to  be  left  ajar.  Noiselessly  pushing  it 
open,  I  had  a  full  view  of  uncle  Basil.  He  had  already 
unsealed  his  love-letter,  and  was  gazing  in  ludicrous  be 
wilderment  and  astonishment  upon  its  emblematic  devices 
and  "tender  lines." 

"  Why,  uncle  Basil !"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  affected 
surprise,  bursting  suddenly  in  upon  him,  and  snatching 


UNCLE  BASIL'S  VALENTINE.  21 

the  letter  from  his  hand.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? 
A  valentine,  as  I  live  !  Uncle  Basil !  Who  would  have 
thought  it  ?  And  at  your  age,  too  !  Fie  !" 

As  I  live,  the  dear  old  man  blushed  almost  as  deeply 
as  I  had  done  a  few  evenings  before,  and  looked  so 
ashamed  and  confused,  that  I  half  repented  of  what  I  had 
done. 

"  Come,  come,  you  saucy  jade !"  he  said,  partially  re 
covering  himself,  and  reaching  out  his  hand.  "  Give  me 
that  letter." 

"  Letter,  indeed  !  I  call  this  a  valentine."  And  I  held 
it  high  above  my  head.  "  Oh !  if  I  don't  show  this  to 
everybody.  Who  could  have  sent  it  ?  Let  me  look  at 
the  handwriting.  It's  the  widow  Williams's,  as  I  live." 

"  Hetty  !  Hetty  !  You  mad  young  rattle-brain,  give 
me  that  letter !" 

I  darted  playfully  about  the  room,  for  a  short  time,  but 
in  the  end  permitted  him  to  pluck  the  valentine  from  my 
hand,  which  he  did  with  an  exhibition  of  more  agility 
than  I  thought  in  him.  In  a  moment  after  he  had  grasp 
ed  it,  the  hearts  and  darts  and  tender  lines  were  in  a 
"blaze  of  glory." 

"  0  uncle  Basil !"  I  lifted  my  finger  and  looked 
into  his  disturbed  countenance,  with  an  arch  and  merry 
expression  upon  my  own.  "  The  widow  Williams  !" 

Just  as  I  said  this,  my  eyes  rested  upon  the  super 
scription  of  a  letter  lying  upon  the  floor — one  of  two  or 
three  just  brought  in  by  John — that  had  fallen  as  the  old 
gentleman  started  up  when  I  snatched  away  from  him  his 
valentine.  It  was  directed  to  me.  Stooping  quickly,  I 
caught  it  from  the  floor,  and  slipped  it  into  my  bosom ; 
not,  however,  so  adroitly  as  to  escape  observation. 

"Aha!  What's  the  meaning  of  that?"  said  uncle 
Basil,  recovering  himself  in  an  instant. 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  show  confusion.  To  cover  it,  I 
beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and  was  soon  locked  in  my  own 
room.  How  short,  quick,  and  imperative,  were  the 
motions  of  my  heart,  as  it  throbbed  almost  audibly  in  my 
bosom.  It  was  some  moments  before  I  was  calm  enough 
to  break  the  seal  of  my  "valentine." 

From  whom  had  it  come  ?    How  instinctive  was  this 


22  UNCLE  BASIL'S  VALENTINE. 

question.  As  I  held  it  in  my  fingers,  still  looking  at  tho 
superscription,  and  trying  to  make  out  the  hand-writing, 
I  felt  something  hard  within.  Instantly  the  seal  was 
broken  and  the  envelope  removed.  There  was  a  sheet  of 
note-paper,  bearing  the  words,  "A  Love  Token,"  and  en 
closing  a  crumpled  piece  of  white  tissue  paper  covering 
the  hard  substance  that  proved  to  be  a  diamond  ring  and 
a  diamond  breastpin  !  For  some  moments  I  was  bewilder 
ed.  Then  all  was  clear.  My  uncle  did  not  mean  that  I 
should  be  deceived  as  to  the  sender  of  my  valentine,  for 
his  well  known,  strong,  mercantile  chirography  in  the 
words,  "  A  Love  Token,"  left  nothing  for  my  vagrant 
imagination  to  dream  over. 

Dear  old  man !  How  rebuked  I  felt.  A  little  while  I 
sat  thoughtful,  and  then  went  bounding  down  stairs  to  the 
sitting-room. 

"  A  kiss  for  your  Love  Token,"  said  I,  as  I  threw  my 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  laid  my  warm  lips  upon  hi? 
venerable  forehead. 

I  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  him  then  that  I  was  the 
widow  Williams  from  whom  his  valentine  came.  But  wo 
have  since  had  more  than  one  hearty  laugh  together  over 
the  remembrance  of  his  sudden  surprise  and  confusion 
when  I  caught  him  absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  a  love- 
letter. 


KATE'S  VALENTINE. 


KATE,  my  sprightly  niece,  like  most  young  ladies  of 
her  age,  has  her  own  opinions  on  matters  and  things 
currently  transpiring.  She  thinks  independently,  and 
generally  speaks  what  she  thinks.  Of  course,  her  know 
ledge  of  human  nature  is  not  very  deep ;  nor  is  she  as 
wise  in  all  her  conclusions  as  she  is  led  to  imagine.  I  do 
not  say  this  disparagingly,  for  Kate  has  quite  as  good 


24  KATE'S  VALENTINE. 

sense  as  nine  in  ten  who  have  only  numbered  her  years, 
which  are  about  twenty-one. 

On  one  subject,  Kate  had,  for  a  year  or  two,  been  par 
ticularly  decided  in  her  expressions.  The  Valentine 
epidemic,  which  has  raged  so  violently,  she  considered  a 
social  disease  emphatically.  It  was  no  healthy  manifesta 
tion  of  right  feelings,  in  her  estimation. 

As  last  St.  Valentine's  day  approached,  and  as  the  store 
windows  and  counters  began  to  be  filled  with  emblematic 
love  missives  of  all  kinds,  from  the  most  costly,  delicate, 
and  refined,  down  to  the  cheapest,  coarsest,  and  most 
vulgar,  Kate  exhibited  more  and  more  strongly  her  an 
tipathy  to  the  custom  about  to  be  honoured. 

"  If  any  one  were  to  send  me  a  valentine,"  said  she, 
"I  would  take  it  as  a  direct  insult  to  my  common  sense." 

"Oh,  as  for  that,"  I  replied,  sportively,  "lovers  are 
not  so  silly  as  to  address  the  common  sense  of  those  whose 
favour  they  desire  to  win." 

"  Whoever  wins  me,"  was  her  prompt  answer,  "  must 
appeal  to  that.  At  no  other  point  will  I  be  accessible."  J 

"We  shall  see." 

"And  we  will  see." 

"  I'll  wager  a  new  hat  against  a  spring  bonnet,"  said  I, 
"that  you  receive  a  valentine  this  year  from  a  certain 

young  man  named Never  mind ;  don't  blush  so ;  I 

won't  name  him." 

"I  would  discard  any  one  who  insulted  me  with  a 
valentine,"  replied  Kate,  indignantly. 

"  Don't  say  that,  for  fear  you  will  have  cause  to  repent 
the  indiscretion." 

"  Yes,  I  do  say  it.  No  man  of  good  sense  would  stoop 
to  such  trifling." 

"  I  don't  know,  Kate.  A  little  trifling,  now  and  then, 
is  relished  by  the  best  of  men." 

"  That's  rhyme,  which  does  not  always  go  hand  in  hand 
with  reason." 

"  You'll  grow  wiser,  Kate,  as  you  grow  older." 

"  If  that  is  the  kind  of  wisdom  age  brings,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  want  it." 

I  answered  with  a  laugh,  for  to  be  grave  on  such  a 
theme  was  jiot  la  me,  As  the  fourteenth  approached, 


KATE'S  VALENTINE.  2£ 

Kate  frequently  repeated  her  expressions  of  disgust  at  the 
silly  custom  of  sending  valentines  that  had  become  so 
popular,  and  declared,  over  and  over  again,  that  such  a 
liberty  with  her,  would  be  taken  as  a  direct  insult,  and 
resented  accordingly. 

Among  the  visiting  acquaintances  of  Kate,  was  a  young 
man  named  Loring,  for  whom,  I  could  see,  she  had  kinder 
feelings  than  for  any  other  male  friend ;  but,  either  in 
consequence  of  a  natural  reserve  of  character,  or  because 
he  was  in  doubt  as  to  Kate's  sentiments  regarding  him 
self,  he  never  seemed  perfectly  at  ease  in  her  company, 
though  he  sought  it  on  every  proper  occasion.  I  had  him 
in  my  mind  when  I  suggested  the  reception  of  a  valentine 
from  a  certain  young  man,  and  Kate  understood  me 
perfectly. 

Well,  Valentine's  day  came  round.  At  dinner-time,  I 
came  home  as  usual,  and  almost  the  first  word  my  wife 
said  to  me  was — 

"  What  do  you  think  ?     Kate's  received  a  valentine." 

"Indeed!" 

"  It's  true.  It  came  by  the  Despatch  Post.  I  received 
it  at  the  door,  and  sent  it  up  to  her  room." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  since  ?" 

"No." 

"  Of  course,  she's  particularly  indignant." 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  that.  It  was  a  hand 
some  one  I  infer,  from  the  size  and  envelop ;  and  had  in 
it  something  hard,  which  I  took  for  jewelry — a  breastpin 
or  a  bracelet." 

"Where  do  you  think  it  came  from?"  said  I. 

"I've  guessed  young  Loring,"  answered  my  wife. 

"  If  he  has  sent  it,  he  has  committed  a  great  mistake," 
I  replied. 

"How  so?" 

"You  know  Kate's  antipathy  to  valentines." 

"  Young  ladies  often  talk  a  great  deal  without  realty 
knowing  what  they  say ;  and  Kate  is  not  altogether  fres 
from  the  fault,"  said  my  wife. 

I  readily  enough  assented  to  this.  When  the  bell 
rung  for  dinner,  Kate  came  down  from  her  room.  Hei 
face  was  rather  more  sober  than  usual,  and  she  did  no/ 

3 


26  KATE'S  VALENTINE. 

join  in  the  conversation  with  her  accustomed  animation. 
She  was  first  to  retire  from  the  table. 

"  I  don't  think  she  is  mortally  offended,"  said  I  to  my 
wife. 

"  No,  not  if  I  am  skilled  in  mental  indications,"  was 
replied. 

During  the  afternoon,  two  or  three  more  love  missives 
came ;  but  not  a  word  touching  their  reception,  or  the  feel 
ings  produced  thereby,  was  breathed  by  Kate.  It  was 
plain,  however,  to  one  with  even  half  an  eye,  that  she  was 
pleased  at  the  mark  of  attention,  or,  it  might  be,  token 
of  love.  Evening,  instead  of  being  passed  as  usual  with 
the  family,  was  spent  by  Kate  in  her  room. 

On  the  next  morning,  at  the  breakfast  table,  I  men 
tioned  the  fact  that  a  certain  number  of  valentines  had 
passed  through  the  post-office  on  the  day  before.  This 
was  in  order  to  introduce  the  subject,  and  call  out  some 
remark  from  Kate ;  but  she  remained  silent  on  the  sub 
ject,  though  not  without  indicating,  by  her  heightened 
colour  and  restless  eye,  that  her  thoughts  were  busy 
enough. 

"I  rather  think  our  young  lady  has  changed  her 
opinions,"  said  I,  smiling,  after  Kate  had  left  the  table. 

"  Circumstances  alter  cases,  you  know,"  replied  my 
wife,  smiling  in  turn. 

On  the  next  evening,  young  Loring  called  in.  Kate 
was  longer  than  usual  in  making  her  appearance,  and 
when  she  came  into  the  parlour,  was  dressed  with  more 
than  ordinary  care.  For  the  first  time,  I  noticed  on  her 
wrist  a  new  and  beautiful  bracelet.  She  blushed,  slightly, 
as  she  met  Loring ;  seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  but  was 
soon  conversing  with  him  in  an  animated  style. 

"  Did  you  see  that  new  bracelet  ?"  asked  my  wife,  when 
we  were  next  alone. 

"I  did." 

"Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"Didn't  you  say  that  in  one  of  the  valentines  she 
received  there  was  something  hard,  like  a  piece  of  jewelry  ?" 

"Yes." 

"That  bracelet,  probably." 

"No  doubt  of  it." 


KATE'S  VALENTINE^  27 

"And,  moreover,"  said  I,  "it  is  plain  that  she  believes 
the  valentine  came  from  Loring ;  for,  at  her  first  meet 
ing  with  him,  she  wears  it  for  the  first  time." 

"Thus,"  remarked  my  wife,  "notifying  him  that  she 
receives  the  token  kindly." 

I  laughed  aloud,  for  I  could  not  help  it. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?"  asked  my  wife. 

"  She  was  going  to  discard  any  one  who  insulted  her 
with  a  valentine !" 

"  That  was  idle  talk.  I've  heard  such  things  said 
before." 

Two  or  three  evenings  went  by,  and  Loring  came  again. 
Since  his  former  visit,  the  new  bracelet  had  not  been  seen. 
Now  it  was  worn  again.  As  we  knew  the  young  man 
well,  and  liked  him  the  better  the  more  intimately  we 
knew  him,  we  saw  no  impropriety  in  leaving  the  young 
couple  alone  in  the  parlour. 

From  that  time,  there  was  a  marked  change  in  my 
niece.  She  was  less  sprightly  and  more  absent-minded 
than  usual.  Next,  her  appetite  failed  her,  and  she  began 
to  grow  thin  and  lose  her  colour — sure  signs  of  a  heart 
disease.  Meanwhile,  Loring  was  a  constant  visiter ;  and 
whenever  he  came,  the  bracelet  was  displayed,  evidently 
in  token  that  she  knew  from  whence  it  came,  and  wished 
its  full  acceptance  to  be  understood.  At  last,  I  received 
a  formal  visit  from  the  young  man,  and  a  formal  offer  for 
the  hand  of  Kate.  Of  course,  I  had  no  objections  to  urge. 
The  matter  was,  in  my  mind,  already  fully  settled. 

After  that,  the  bracelet  aforementioned  was  always  to 
be  seen  on  the  arm  of  Kate.  One  evening,  it  was  about 
a  month  before  her  wedding-day,  as  I  sat  talking  with 
Kate,  for  whom  my  affection  had  always  been  as  tender 
as  that  of  a  father  for  his  child,  I  took  her  hand,  and  said, 
as  I  examined  the  bracelet — 

"  That  is  very  beautiful." 

"  Yes,  I  have  always  admired  it  very  much,"  she  re 
plied,  the  colour  growing  warmer  in  her  cheeks. 

"A  love-token,  I  presume?" 

And  as  I  said  this,  I  looked  at  her  archly.  The  hue 
of  her  cheeks  became  still  deeper. 

"A  valentine  ?"  I  added. 


28  KATE'S  VALENTINE. 

The  blood  mounted  to  her  temples. 

"  But  it  was  not  an  ordinary  valentine.  It  did  not 
come  from  a  trifier,  and  was  not  received  as  an  insult.  I 
thought  you  were  not  the  girl,  Kate,  to  reject  a  sincere 
offer." 

Kate  blushed  still  more  deeply. 

"This  little  love-token,  dear  Kate,  is  for  thee: 
Accept  it,  and  keep  it,  and  wear  it  for  me." 

As  I  repeated  this  couplet,  the  young  girl  started  with 
surprise,  and  looked  with  inquiring  earnestness  in  my 
face. 

"But  I'm  afraid,  Kate,"  said  I,  with  a  meaning  smile, 
and  a  voice  half-regretful  in  its  tone,  "that  you  wore  it 
less  for  the  real  than  for  an  imaginary  giver." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  me  more  earnestly, 
while  a  sudden  light  appeared  to  break  upon  her  mind. 

"Dear  uncle,"  said  she,  at  length,  bending  toward  me, 
"  had  you  seen  this  bracelet  before  you  saw  it  on  my  arm  ?" 

"Yes,  love,"  was  my  tenderly  spoken  reply;  and  I 
pressed  her  pure  forehead  with  my  lips  as  I  spoke. 

"And  you  sent  it?" 

She  seemed  half  breathless  as  she  awaited  my  reply. 

"Yes,  dear." 

She  covered  her  face  suddenly  with  her  hands  and  sat 
motionless  for  some  moments.  In  a  little  while,  I  saw  a 
tear  come  stealing  through  her  fingers.  My  feelings  were 
touched,  for  I  feared  lest  I  had  done  violence  to  hers  by 
this  little  confession  of  the  truth.  But,  ere  I  had  looked 
for  composure  of  mind,  she  withdrew  her  hands  from  her 
face,  on  which  an  affectionate  smile  shone  like  a  rainbow 
amid  the  parting  drops  of  a  summer  shower,  and  said,  as 
she  arose — 

"  Henceforth,  I  will  wear  it  for  the  real  giver." 

Bending  to  kiss  me,  she  left  a  tear  on  my  cheek,  and 
then  glided  from  the  room. 

On  her  wedding  night,  Kate  wore  her  valentine  brace 
let  ;  and  I  am  weak  enough  to  believe — if  the  sentiment 
may  be  called  a  weakness — that  she  prized  it  even  more 
highly  than  if  Loring  himself  had  been  the  giver. 


The  Red  Ear. 


THE  RED  EAR;  on,  THE  HUSKING 
FROLIC. 


IN  rural  districts,  the  merrymakings  have  a  natural 
heartiness  about  them  never  seen  in  cities,  towns,  nor  vil 
lages.  Overweening  self-respect  has  not  come  in  to  fetter 
the  motions  of  the  body,  nor  to  smother  the  laugh  in  its 
free  utterance.  Feeling  and  action  are  in  close  relation 
ship.  You  come  nearer  to  nature,  untrammelled  by  cus 
tom  and  unaffected  by  art. 

A  merrymaking  par  excellence,  is,  (or  was,)  a  New 
England  husking  frolic.  The  husking  frolic  at  the  South 
is  a  different  affair  altogether.  There,  it  is  a  congrega 
tion  of  negroes  from  the  various  plantations  near  at  hand, 
who,  while  they  work,  make  the  air  vocal  almost  for  miles 
around  with  their  rude  melodies,  a  few  of  which  have  been 
rendered  familiar  to  ears  polite  by  the  "  Serenaders"  who 
have  so  highly  amused  the  public  during  the  past  two  or 
three  years.  But  at  the  North,  the  "husking,"  like  the 
"  quilting,"  draws  together  the  gentle  maidens  and  loving 
swains  of  a  neighbourhood,  who  meet  to  enjoy  themselves 
in  their  own  way.  And  such  enjoyment  as  they  have,  in 
kind  and  degree,  is  not  to  be  met  with  every  day.  In 
former  times,  the  "husking"  was  a  wilder  affair  than  at 
present.  Straight-laced  conventionality  is  gradually  find 
ing  its  way  beyond  the  city  limits,  and  binding  the  free 
spirits  of  our  country  maidens.  They  meet  oftener  with 
the  "  city  folks,"  gradually  falling  more  and  more  into 
their  habits  as  they  partake  more  and  more  of  their  spirit ; 
and,  when  they  assemble  for  enjoyment,  they  check  their 

31 


32  THE  RED  EAR;    OR, 

impulses,  restrain  their  movements,  and  hush  almost  into 
silence  the  merry  laughter  that  seeks  to  leap  forth  like  the 
singing  waters  of  the  fountain.  No  ;  "  huskings"  are  not 
what  they  were.  Instead  of  seeing  on  the  threshing-floor 
a  troop  of  young  men  and  maidens,  stripping  from  the 
bright  ears  of  grain  their  leafy  coverings,  amid  laughter, 
music,  and  the  mingling  of  sweet  voices,  as  of  old,  mere 
"labour"  comes  in  too  often  to  perform  the  service,  and 
silently  and  coldly  does  its  work.  Yet,  here  and  there,  a 
farmer,  who  cannot  forget  the  pleasant  times  when  he  was 
young,  sends  forth  his  annual  summons  after  the  maize 
harvest  is  gathered,  and  then  comes  a  merrymaking  for 
old  and  young  that  is  enjoyed  in  a  way  never  to  be  for 
gotten. 

Old  Ephraim  Bradley  was  a  man  of  this  school.  If  his 
head  grew  white  under  the  falling  snows  of  many  winters, 
the  grass  was  fresh  and  green,  and  the  flowers  ever  bloom 
ing  on  his  heart.  With  him,  the  annual  "  husking"  was 
never  omitted.  It  was,  like  Christmas  and  Thanks 
giving,  almost  a  sacred  thing,  half  involving  sin  in  the 
omission. 

Kate  Mayflower,  a  wild  romp  of  a  girl  from  Boston — 
at  least  some  in  the  city  regarded  her  as  such — was  spend 
ing  a  few  weeks  in  D ,  when  invitations  came  to  at 
tend  a  husking  party  at  Ephraim  Bradley's.  The  old 
man  lived  some  three  miles  from  the  village.  Kate  had 
heard  about  husking  parties,  and  her  young  spirits  leaped 
up  when  the  announcement  was  made  that  one  was  to  be 
held  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  that  she  was  invited  to  be 
present.  It  was  a  frolic  that,  from  all  she  had  heard, 
would  just  suit  her  temperament,  and  she  set  off,  when 
the  time  came,  to  make  one  of  the  party,  in  the  merriest 
possible  mood. 

Evening  had  closed  in  on  the  arrival  of  the  party  from 

D ,  who  quickly  joined  some  score  or  two  of  young 

people  in  the  large  kitchen,  where  lay  heaped  up  in  the 
centre  a  huge  pile  of  Indian  corn. 

"All  that  to  be  husked?"  whispered  Kate,  as  she 
entered  the  room. 

"  Oh  yes  !  all  that  and  more,  perhaps,"  was  the  smiling 
reply.  "We  have  come  to  work,  you  know." 


THE    HUSKING    FROLIC.  33 

"Now,  gals,"  said  old  Mr.  Bradley,  who  stood  looking 
on  as  the  young  folks  gathered,  with  bright  faces,  around 
the  golden  grain,  "  now  for  a  good  old-fashioned  time. 
If  there  are  not  half  a  dozen  weddings  between  this  and 
Christmas,  I  shall  say  there  is  no  virtue  in  red  ears." 

As  he  ceased,  down  dropped,  amid  gay  voices  and 
laughter,  the  whole  company  upon  the  floor,  in  all  grace 
ful  and  ungraceful  positions,  in  a  circle  around  the  pile 
of  corn.  Kate  alone  remained  standing,  for  the  move 
ment  was  so  sudden  that  she  could  not  act  with  it. 

"  Here's  room  for  you,  Kate,"  cried  one  of  the  girls 
who  had  come  with  her,  making  a  place  by  her  side ;  and 
down  sank  Kate,  feeling,  for  the  first  time,  a  little-  awk 
ward  and  confused.  Beside  her  was  a  stout  rough  coun 
try  youth,  whose  face  was  all  merrriment,  and  whose  eyes 
were  dancing  with  anticipated  pleasure.  The  city  girl 
eyed  his  rough,  brown  hands,  coarse  garments,  and  un 
polished  face,  with  a  slight  feeling  of  repulsion,  and  drew 
a  little  from  him  toward  her  friend. 

"  Oh,  plenty  of  room,  miss  !  Plenty  of  room,"  said  he, 
turning  broadly  around,  and  addressing  her  with  a  familiar 
leer.  "  The  tighter  we  fit  in,  the  better.  Lay  the  brands 
close,  if  you  want  a  good  fire." 

Kate  could  not  help  laughing  at  this.  As  she  laughed, 
he  added — 

"  All  free  and  easy  here."  He  had  grasped  an  ear  of 
corn,  and  was  already  stripping  down  the  husk.  "  A  red 
ear !"  suddenly  burst  from  his  lips,  in  a  tone  of  triumph ; 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  sprang  toward,  or  rather  upon  Kate, 
with  the  grace  of  a  young  bear,  and  kissed  her  with  a 
"smack"  that  might  have  been  heard  a  dozen  rooms  off". 
Ere  she  had  time  to  recover  from  the  surprise,  and,  it 
must  be  admitted,  indignation,  occasioned  by  this  unex 
pected  assault  upon  her  lips,  the  hero  of  the  first  "red 
ear"  was  half  around  the  circle  of  struggling  girls,  kissing 
both  right  and  left  with  a  skill  and  heartiness  that  awoke 
shouts  of  applause  from  the  young  "fellers,"  who  envied 
his  good  fortune. 

That  was  a  new  phase  of  life  to  Kate.  She  had  heard 
of  kissing  as  an  amusement  among  young  folks,  and  had 
often  thought  that  the  custom  was  too  good  to  have  be- 


34  THE  RED   EAR;  OR, 

come  obsolete ;  but  a  practical  view,  and  a  personal  par 
ticipation  like  this,  was  a  thing  that  her  imagination  had, 
in  none  of  its  vagaries,  conceived.  An  old-fashioned, 
straight-backed,  flag-bottomed  chair  stood  near,  and,  un 
willing  to  trust  herself  again  upon  the  floor,  Kate  drew 
that  into  the  circle,  and  seated  herself  close  to  the  pile  of 
corn  just  as  the  young  man  had  completed  his  task  of 
kissing  every  girl  in  the  room. 

"First  rate  that!"  said  he,  smacking  his  lips,  as  he 
threw  himself  at  her  feet.  "  Wasn't  I  lucky  ?" 

Kate's  indignation  had,  by  this  time,  all  melted  away 
under  a  lively  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  and  she  could  not 
help  laughing  with  the  merriest.  Soon  another  red  ear 
was  announced,  and  then  the  kissing  commenced  again. 
Such  struggling,  wrestling,  screaming,  and  laughing, 
Kate  had  never  heard  nor  seen.  The  young  man  who 
held  the  prize  had  all  the  nerve  required  ta  go  through 
with  his  part,  as  Kate  clearly  proved  when  it  came  to  her 
turn  to  receive  a  salute.  Springing  from  her  chair,  she 
fled  into  the  next  room ;  but  this  only  increased  his  eager 
ness  to  touch  the  lips  of  "  the  beautiful  girl  from  Boston," 
and  he  soon  had  his  arms  around  her  and  his  hands  upon 
her  cheeks.  The  struggle  was  long  and  well  sustained  on 
the  part  of  the  maiden ;  but  her  fate  was  to  be  kissed,  and 
kissed  by  a  rough  young  countryman  whom  she  had  never 
met  before.  The  deed  was  done,  and  then  the  blushing, 
panting  girl  was  led  back  in  triumph  to  the  room  from 
which  she  had  escaped. 

Red  ears  were  in  plenty  that  evening.  It  was  shrewdly 
guessed  that  every  young  man  had  come  with  at  least  two 
in  his  pockets,  for  all  the  girls  avowed  that  never  before 
had  Farmer  Bradley's  field  of  corn  produced  so  many. 
As  for  Kate,  she  was  kissed  and  kissed,  until  making,  as 
she  alleged  to  her  friend,  a  virtue  of  necessity,  she  sub 
mitted  with  the  kindliest  grace  imaginable ;  and,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  enjoyed  the  frolic  with  as  lively  a  zest 
as  any  one  present. 

At  length  the  great  pile  of  corn  disappeared,  and  the 
company  arranged  themselves  for  dancing ;  but  they  had 
ha-^ly  been  on  the  floor  half  an  hour,  when  supper  was 


THE    HUSKING    FROLIC.  35 

announced — and  such  a  supper  as  that  was !  No  pyra 
mids  of  ice-cream  or  candied  oranges.  No  mock  nor 
real  turtle  ;  nor  oysters  in  a  dozen  styles.  Turkeys  there 
were,  but  not  scientifically  "boned."  No;  there  were 
none  of  the  fashionable  city  delicacies ;  but  instead,  "  a 
gigantic  round  of  beef  in  the  centre  of  the  table  was 
flanked  on  either  side  with  vegetables.  A  bouncing  junk 
of  corned-beef  was  at  one  end,  and  a  big  chicken-pie  at 
the  other.  An  Indian  pudding,  of  ample  dimensions, 
stood  forth  between  the  middle  and  end  of  the  end  dishes, 
and  a  giant  pot  of  beans  loomed  up  on  the  other  side; 
while  pumpkin-pies,  apple-sauce,  and  a  host  of  other  *  fix 
ings'  filled  up  the  spaces." 

This  was  the  bill  of  fare  for  the  evening,  and  our  city 
belle  looked  on  with  a  new  surprise,  as  she  saw  th« 
articles  disappearing  one  after  another  like  frost  work  o» 
window-panes  at  sunrise.  If  the  good  wife  did  not  say  of? 
this,  as  was  said  on  a  similar  occasion,  "  Lay  hold,  anrt 
help  yourselves,  gals — make  a  long  arm ;  and  let  the  me». 
folks  take  keer  of  themselves.  If  any  on  you  likes  tur 
nips  squat  and  buttered,  squat  and  butter  'em  to  suit 
yourselves" — at  least  as  hearty  and  primitive  an  invita 
tion  to  go  to  work  on  the  good  things  was  extended,  and 
no  one  could  complain  that  it  was  not  acted  upon.  What 
followed  is  best  given  in  the  language  of  one  who  has 
already  described  a  similar  scene : — 

"  The  guests  seemed  to  do  ample  justice  to  the  viands ; 
mirth  and  festivity  reigned  around  the  board.  Jokes, 
witticisms,  and  flashes  of  fun  would  occasionally  *  set  the 
table  in  a  roar.'  All  appeared  determined  to  enjoy  them 
selves  at  the  'top  of  their  bent.' 

"  Soon  as  supper  was  over,  all  the  girls  lent  a  hand 
and  the  table  was  cleared  away  in  a  jiffy.  Blindman'p 
buff  was  then  introduced ;  the  company  now  was  uproari 
ous  !  Dancing  was  the  next  consideration.  Amos  Bunker 
screwed  up  his  viol,  resined  the  bow,  and  *  did  up'  the  toe- 
and-heel  inspiring  notes  of  Fisher's  hornpipe;  while  a 
number  of  the  party,  who  were  somewhat  skilled  in  the 
terpsichorean  art,  put  in  the  '  double  shuffle  rigadoon.' 
Presently  the  lookers-on  caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  the 


36  THE    RED    EAR,   ETC. 

whole  company,  old  and  young,  adepts  and  novices,  took 
the  floor  and  did  their  utmost : 

«'Twas  right  and  left,  and  down  outside,  six  round  and  back  to  back: 
Harum-scarum,  belter  skelter,  bump  together,  whack.' 

"  And  thus  was  the  husking  kept  up  til  the  old  clock, 
which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  kitchen,  beat  out  twelve ; 
then  broke  up  this  jolly  gathering." 

So  it  was  at  old  Farmer  Bradley's.  When  Kate  went 
back  to  Boston,  she  was  free  to  own  that  she  had  enjoyed 
a  new  kind  of  merrymaking,  and  avowed  her  purpose  to 
be  at  old  Ephraim  Bradley's  when  the  next  husking 
came  off. 


3S 


Cooks. 


COOKS. 


MR.  JOHN  BROWN  was  a  man  of  orderly  mind  and  syste 
matic  habits.  His  business  went  on  like  clock  work;  and 
he  would  have  it  so.  If  the  least  irregularity  appeared, 
you  may  be  sure  he  would  see  it  and  know  the  reason. 

"All  you  have  to  do,"  he  would  sometimes  say,  "  is 
to  will  to  have  things  right.  A  resolute  purpose  is  every 
thing." 

This  doctrine  he  uniformly  preached  to  Mrs.  Brown  on 
the  occasion  of  every  domestic  irregularity;  especially 
when  she  complained  that  she  could  not  make  cook,  nurse, 
or  chambermaid  do  as  she  wished. 

"Establish  a  certain  rule,  and  see  that  it  is  obeyed," 
he  would  say  to  her.  "  That's  my  plan,  and  I  have  no 
trouble.  An  employSe  of  mine  knows  that  it  is  as  much  as 
his  place  is  worth  to  go  contrary  to  rule ;  and,  if  you  made 
the  keeping  of  a  place  in  your  household  dependent  on  strict 
obedience  to  your  orders,  you  would  have  far  less  trouble." 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  talk,"  Mrs.  Brown  would  generally 
reply  to  these  suggestions. 

"And  just  as  easy  to  act,"  would  respond  Mr.  Brown. 
"  I  know.  I've  tried  it.  You  have  only  to  resolve  to 
have  a  thing  done  right,  and  it  is  done.  Nothing  more 
easy  in  the  world.  There  is  Judson,  my  neighbour,  an 
easy  sort  of  a  man,  with  no  order  in  his  mind.  Well,  of 
course,  every  thing  around  him  is  at  sixes  and  sevens  ; 
and  he's  always  complaining  that  he  can  never  get  any 
body  to  do  as  he  wishes.  Give  him  the  best  clerk  in  the 
city,  and  he'll  spoil  him  in  three  months.  And  why? 
There  is  no  order  in  the  man's  business.  He  has  no  sys- 

39 


40  COOKS. 

tern.  I  have  two  young  men  in  my  store  who  were  so 
worthless  with  Judson,  according  to  his  own  account,  that 
he  had  to  send  them  off.  I  wouldn't  ask  for  better  clerks. 
In  the  beginning,  I  let  them  understand  I  was  a  man  who 
would  have  things  my  own  way ,  and  they  soon  under 
stood  that  this  was  not  a  mere  matter  of  words.  It's  the 
order,  Jane — the  order.  Fix  an  order  in  your  household, 
and  all  this  trouble  will  cease." 

"  Order  among  intelligent  clerks  may  be  easily  enough 
attained,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  to  her  husband,  one  morning, 
after  some  remarks  of  this  kind,  which  had  arisen  from 
the  fact  of  company  being  expected  to  dinner ;  "  but  I'd 
like  to  see  the  order  you  would  maintain  with  a  parcel  of 
subordinates  like  our  Biddy  to  deal  with.  I  imagine  you'd 
find  your  hands  full.  Ignorant  Irish  girls  are  not  so  easy 
to  bring  into  order." 

"A  good  system  and  a  good  resolution  are  all  that  is 
•wanted." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

UI  know  so." 

"  I  wish  you  had  the  trial  for  a  week." 

"  You'd  see  a  different  state  of  things,"  confidently  re 
plied  the  husband. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Brown  ;  who  was  hurt 
by  her  husband's  rebuking  manner,  and  showed  it  in  her 
tone  of  voice. 

Mr.  Brown  was  a  kind-hearted  man — what  cannot 
always  be  said  of  very  orderly  people — and  was  pained  to 
see  the  effect  of  his  words. 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind,  Jane,"  said  he  soothingly. 
"  We  can't  all  do  alike.  I  know  you  manage  excellently 
on  the  whole.  But  won't  you,  to-day,  watch  Biddy  a 
little  closer,  and  see  that  she  has  dinner  at  the  hour? 
She  is  so  apt  to  be  late.  I  wouldn't  like  Mrs.  Clark 
and  Mrs.  Agnew  to  notice  any  thing  irregular  in  our 
household  economy." 

"I  presume  our  household  arrangements  are  fully  as 
good  as  theirs,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  a  little  sharply,  for  she 
was  more  fretted  in  mind  than  her  husband  supposed. 

"  That  may  all  be ;  but  won't  you  see  that  Biddy  has 
dinner  precisely  at  three  ?" 


COOKS.  41 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  but  can't  promise  any  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Brown,  whose  mind  her  husband  had  chafed  so 
much  that  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her  annoyance. 

Mr.  Brown  went  away  grumbling  to  himself,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  went  into  the  kitchen,  and,  in  no  very  amiable  tone 
of  voice,  said  to  Biddy — 

"  We're  to  have  company  to  dine  with  us  to-day,  and 
Mr.  Brown  expects  dinner  on  the  table  precisely  at  three. 
Now,  pray,  don't  let  it  be  a  minute  later." 

Biddy  always  made  it  a  point  to  be  cross  whenever  there 
was  company.  This  announcement  alone,  no  matter  in 
how  amiable  a  tone  it  had  been  made,  would  have  sufficed 
to  arouse  her  ill-nature ;  but  coming  as  it  did,  in  a  fretful 
voice,  she  ,was  filled  instantly  with  a  spirit  of  opposition. 
Not  the  slightest  reply  did  she  make — not  the  smallest 
sign  that  she  heard  escaped  her. 

Mrs.  Brown  stood  a  few  minutes  and  then  said,  angrily — - 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said  ?" 

"I'm  not  deaf,  marm,"  pertly  returned  Biddy. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  answer  me  ?" 

Biddy  turned  away  with  a  contemptuous  toss  of  the 
head,  and  resumed  her  work. 

"  See  here,  my  lady  !" — But  Mrs.  Brown  checked  her 
self,  for  she  knew  Biddy's  temper,  and  understood  that, 
in  entering  into  a  regular  contest  with  her,  the  question 
of  victory  would  be  doubtful.  In  all  probability,  it  would 
end  in  her  being  compelled  to  order  the  insolent  creature 
out  of  the  house ;  and  then  who  was  to  cook  the  dinner  ? 
This  thought  caused  Mrs.  Brown  to  curb  her  feelings,  and 
to  put  a  bridle  upon  her  tongue. 

u  Biddy,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  after  pausing  a  few  mo 
ments  to  compose  herself — she  spoke  calmly — "we  are 
to  have  company  to-day,  and  I  wish  dinner  on  the  table 
precisely  at  three  o'clock." 

Then  Mrs.  Brown  left  the  kitchen,  and  went  up  to  her 
sitting-room,  feeling,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  ,no  little 
"  out  of  sorts."  As  to  dinner  being  ready  at  three  pre 
cisely,  she  had  no  expectation  of  the  thing  whatever. 
Mr.  Brown  would  be  seriously  annoyed,  and  all  her  plea 
sures  would,  of  course,  be  destroyed.  No  very  agreeable 
anticipation  this,  in  view  of  having  company. 

4* 


42  coo  K  s. 

An  hour  after  Mr.  Brown  went  away,  one  of  his  men 
brought  home  a  basket  of  marketing.  On  its  arrival, 
Mrs.  Brown  descended  once  more  to  the  lower  regions  of 
her  house,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  provision 
that  had  been  made,  and  to  give  some  directions  to  her 
cook.  Biddy  received  her  mistress  in  no  very  amiable 
mood.  In  fact,  she  cast  upon  her  a  glance  of  defiance  as 
she  entered.  The  basket  looked  over,  and  a  few  brief 
directions  given,  Mrs.  Brown  retired.  There  was  to  be 
trouble  that  day  with  Biddy — nothing  was  more  ap 
parent. 

About  twelve  o'clock,  the  ladies  who  were  engaged  to 
dine,  arrived.  Their  husbands  would  come  at  three,  with 
Mr.  Brown.  Mrs.  Brown's  heart  was  full ;  and,  as  from 
the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,  she  enter 
tained  her  visitors  during  the  first  hour  with  her  troubles 
with  servants.  The  subject  was  an  interesting  one  to 
them,  for  they  were  housekeepers,  and  prepared  to  sym 
pathize.  They  had  also  their  own  trials  to  relate,  and  were 
eloquent  upon  their  sufferings.  As  for  cooks,  they  were 
all  voted  to  be  a  most  horrible  set  of  creatures,  and  the 
authors  of  more  domestic  misery  than  was  to  be  charged 
to  any  other  account.  In  the  midst  of  an  interesting  dis 
cussion  of  this  kind,  Mrs.  Brown  excused  herself,  and 
went  to  pay  a  visit  of  exploration  into  Biddy's  department. 
Things  didn't  look  very  encouraging.  She  had  been  en 
trusted  with  the  work  of  preparing  certain  articles  of 
desert;  but  Mrs.  Brown  saw  at  a  glance  they  were  des 
tined  to  be  spoiled  unless  she  took  charge  of  them  herself. 
So,  without  remarking  on  the  subject,  she  told  Biddy  to 
go  up  to  her  room  and  get  her  an  apron. 

This  was  done  with  a  certain  air,  the  meaning  of  which 
was  not  mistaken.  But  Mrs.  Brown  didn't  choose  to  be 
drawn  into  a  regular  quarrel.  She  took  the  apron, 
and,  tying  it  on,  went  to  work  at  the  puddings,  and  soon 
had  them  just  to  her  liking.  After  giving  careful  direc 
tions  to  have  the  ovens  in  good  order,  before  they  were 
put  in,  she  went  up  stairs  and  rejoined  her  company.  At 
two  o'clock,  Mrs.  Brown  visited  the  kitchen  again.  Noth 
ing  was  as  forward  as  it  should  have  been,  and  cook  was 
in  as  bad  humour  as  ever. 


COOK  s.  43 

"  You'll  be  late,  Biddy,  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"  This  is  no  kind  of  a  fire." 

"  The  coal  won't  burn,"  replied  Biddy.  , 

"  It  always  has  burned.  Strange  that  it  doesn't  burn 
now !" 

And  Mrs.  Brown  began  to  examine  the  range. 

"No  wonder,"  said  she,  "with  this  damper  half  closed, 
How  could  you  expect  coal  to  burn  without  a  free  draft  ? 
There,  you  can  see  the  fire  increasing  already.  Now  do, 
Biddy,  stir  yourself;  it's  after  two  o'clock." 

Biddy  didn't  deign  an  answer  to  this  appeal ;  and  Mrs. 
Brown,  after  standing  as  an  observer  of  her  movements 
for  a  little  while,  went  up  stairs,  satisfied  that  no  dinner 
would  be  ready  at  three  o'clock. 

Just  at  a  quarter  before  three,  Mr.  Brown  arrived,  with 
Mr.  Clark  and  Mr.  Agnew,  whose  wives  had  already  made 
their  appearance. 

"Dinner  most  ready?"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Brown,  whom 
he  found  in  the  dining-room,  soon  after  his  entrance. 

"I  believe  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown. 

"It's  ten  minutes  of  three." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"But  I  hope,  Jane,  that  dinner  isn't  going  to  be  latt  ' 
Mr.  Brown  spoke  in  a  nervous  manner. 

"  It  won't  be  ready  at  three,  that's  certain.  Biddy's 
been  in  a  dreadful  humour  all  the  morning,  and  has  done 
nothing  right." 

"  Oh,  dear.  This  want  of  punctuality  does  distress  me  I 
Why  do  you  keep  such  a  creature  about  you?" 

"Do,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  his  wife,  in  an  appealing  voice, 
"  go  into  the  parlour  and  wait  as  patiently  as  you  can 
until  dinner  is  ready !  I'm  so  nervous  now  that  I  can 
hardly  hold  a  thing  in  my  hands." 

Mr.  Brown  did  as  he  was  desired  to  do ;  but  his  organ 
of  punctuality  was  in  a  state  of  active  excitement.  Ten, 
fifteen,  twenty,  thirty,  even  forty  minutes  passed,  and 
there  came  no  welcome  sound  of  the  dinner-bell.  Unable 
to  curb  his  impatience  any  longer,  Mr.  Brown  left  the 
parlour,  and  once  more  sought  his  wife.  She  was  still  in 
the  dining-room,  where  the  table  was  set,  but  where  no 
sign  of  the  hunger-quelling  banquet  was  discernible. 


44  COOKS. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  my  dear  !"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "what 
has  made  all  this  delay?" 

"  Go  and  ask  Biddy,"  replied  the  over-tired  lady;  "and, 
if  you  get  any  satisfaction  from  her  on  the  subject,  you 
will  be  more  fortunate  than  I  am." 

Upon  this  hint,  and  acting  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
Mr.  Brown  hurried  off  toward  the  kitchen.  He  would 
regulate  the  matter  in  quick  order.  He  would  have  din 
ner  on  the  table  in  a  twinkling,  or  know  the  reason  !  Such 
were  his  thoughts  and  purposes.  Mrs.  Brown,  anticipat 
ing  trouble,  followed  close  after  her  husband. 

"See  here,  my  lady!"  was  the  salutation  with  which 
Mr.  Brown  met  Biddy,  as  he  entered  the  kitchen.  "  What's 
the  meaning  of  all  this  work  to-day  ?  Why  isn't  dinner 
ready?  Are  you  to  be  the  arbiter  of  affairs  in  my  house ?" 

Now  Biddy,  as  the  reader  understands  by  this  time, 
was  in  a  defiant  humour.  The  kitchen  she  felt  to  be  her 
castle,  and  was  ever  inclined  to  dispute  with  any  and 
every  one  the  right  of  entrance.  Had  Mrs.  Brown  kept 
away  during  the  morning,  dinner  would  have  been  ready 
at  the  hour.  But  every  time  the  mistress  appeared,  the 
cook's  temper  was  more  and  more  ruffled,  and  her  spirit 
of  opposition  more  and  more  aroused.  Since  her  hus 
band's  arrival,  Mrs.  Brown  had  manifested  herself  to 
Biddy  not  less  than  half  a  dozen  times,  and,  at  each  ap 
pearance,  made  some  fretful  and  irritating  remarks  touch 
ing  the  lateness  of  dinner.  The  climax  to  all  this  was  the 
sudden  entrance  of  the  incensed  Mr.  Brown.  As  he  came 
in,  Biddy  was  in  the  act  of  turning  from  the  range  with  a 
dish  in  her  hands,  on  which  was  a  large  sirloin  of  beef. 
The  words  of  Mr.  Brown  did  not  have  the  effect  of  sub 
duing  the  spirit  of  Biddy,  as  he  had  anticipated.  For  a 
moment,  she  glared  at  him  with  a  look  of  defiance,  while 
her  face  grew  scarlet  with  anger ;  then  tossing  the  dish  and 
its  contents  with  a  crash  at  his  feet,  and  plentifully  scat 
tering  the  gravy  over  his  pantaloons  and  the  silk  dress 
of  his  wife,  who  came  to  his  side  at  the  moment,  she  ex 
claimed,  fiercely — 

"  There's  your  dinner !    And  I  hope  you're  satisfied !" 

There  was  a  long  pause  of  consternation  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown,  during  which  Biddy  retired  from  the 


COOKS.  45 

kitchen  with  a  dignity  that  may  be  imagined,  but  not  de 
scribed.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  also  retired,  and  in  a  manner 
quite  as  indescribable ;  and,  seating  themselves  in  the  dining- 
room,  collected  their  scattered  wits  for  a  council  of  war. 
The  lady's  silk  dress  was  a  sight  to  be  seen.  It  was  per 
fectly  ruined,  large  patches  of  grease  being  freely  dis 
tributed  over  the  front  breadth  for  a  distance  of  more 
than  half  a  yard  from  the  bottom.  The  gentleman's  pan 
taloons  were  in  no  better  condition. 

"  Oh,  dear!  what  is  to  be  done?"  said  Mrs.  Brown, 
with  pale  face  and  panting  bosom.  "  I  declare,  I'm  right 
sick !" 

"Well,  if  that  doesn't  get  ahead  of  me!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Brown,  who,  struck  with  the  ludicrousness  of  the 
scene,  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  to  give  an  angry 
vent  to  his  feelings. 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  It's  nearly  four  o'clock  now, 
and  the  beef  is  lying  upon  the  kitchen  floor!"  said  Mrs. 
Brown,  in  great  distress. 

Mr.  Brown  was  a  man  for  an  emergency.  He  was 
not  to  be  put  down  teetotally  under  any  circumstances. 
He  had  met  and  conquered  many  difficulties  in  his  time, 
and  he  was  not  to  be  overcome  by  this  one. 

"  Do  the  best  we  can,  Jane,"  said  he,  speaking  with  a 
sudden  cheerfulness  of  manner.  "  Go  and  tell  Nancy  to 
come  down  and  serve  up  the  dinner,  while  you  change 
your  dress  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  will  see  our  friends 
in  the  parlour,  and  make  an  apology  for  the  delay.  Put 
a  good  face  on  it.  Laugh  at  the  joke,  and  all  will  be  well." 

Mrs.  Brown,  after  demurring  a  little,  went  up  and  did 
as  her  husband  suggested,  while  he,  becoming  more  and 
more  alive  every  moment  to  the  ludicrousness  of  the  scene 
he  had  just  witnessed,  entered  the  parlour  laughing. 
Here,  to  the  amusement  of  all  parties,  he  related,  in  his 
own  way,  what  had  just  occurred,  exhibiting,  at  the  same 
time,  some  evidences  of  the  recent  scene  in  his  soiled 
garments. 

"And  now,  ladies,"  said  he,  smiling,  "if  you'll  take 
pity  on  my  poor  wife,  who  is  changing  her  dress,  and  go 
down  and  see  that  Nancy,  our  good-humoured  chamber 
maid,  serves  up  the  dinner  in  some  kind  of  order,  you  will 


46  COOKS. 

help  to  turn  a  serious  matter  into  a  source  of  merri 
ment." 

Up  sprang  the  two  ladies  at  this  hint,  and  were  off  to 
the  kitchen  in  a  jiffy,  and,  with  such  right  good-will  did 
they  go  to  work,  that  the  dinner-bell  rang  ere  Mrs.  Brown 
had  finished  her  toilet. 

A  pleasanter  dinner-party  never  assembled  at  the  table 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  before  nor  since.  There  was  good 
humour,  and  free  and  easy  conversation  in  plenty.  The 
cooking  stories  that  were  told,  if  written  out,  would  fill  a 
volume.  Cooks  were  voted  to  be  the  veriest  torments  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Mrs.  Clark  and  Mrs.  Agnew,  in 
relating  some  of  their  experiences,  frequently  set  the 
whole  party  in  a  roar. 


COUNTRY  BOARDING. 


PART  I. 

in   for  a  JJto 


SUMMER  after  summer  had  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  spent 
amid  the  heat  and  dust  and  noise  of  the  city,  while  many 
of  their  friends  and  neighbours  sped  away  to  the  country, 
and  passed  the  sultry  months  where  the  pure  airs  played 
among  the  cooling  shadows,  and  the  bright  streams  danced 
along  refreshingly  through  green  meadows,  or  gave  a  new 
charm  to  wood  and  valley.  Often  and  often  had  they 
sighed  for  a  rural  season  ;  but,  somehow  or  other,  they 
could  never  just  make  it  convenient  to  follow  their  incli 
nations  in  this  particular. 

One  day  last  summer  —  it  was  in  July,  and  the  ther 
mometer  had  been  ranging  from  ninety-six  to  a  hundred 
for  nearly  a  fortnight  —  on  the  return  home  of  Mr.  Jenkins, 
at  the  approach  of  evening,  his  good  lady  said  to  him,  in 
a  fretful  tone  of  voice  — 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  these  boys,  Mr.  Jenkins  ?  The 
holidays  have  begun,  and  they  are  to  be  home  for  two 
months.'* 

"  Oh  dear  !"  returned  Mr.  Jenkins,  evincing  consider 
able  perplexity  of  mind  at  this  intelligence.  "Two 
months'  holiday  !  It  will  be  their  ruination." 

"And  the  death  of  me,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "I  can 
never  stand  it  in  the  world.  I'm  almost  worried  out  of 
my  life  with  them  on  Saturdays  ;  and  what  will  it  be 
•when  there  are  two  months  of  Saturdays  ?  I  can't  turn 

5  49 


50  COUNTKY    BOARDING. 

Tom  and  Dick  into  the  street,  and  let  them  go  into  all 
sorts  of  company." 

"  No,  indeed ;  that  will  not   do,"  replied  the  father. 

"  And  they'll  never  content  themselves  in  the  house. 
That's  impossible,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "Moreover,  it 
would  be  cruel  to  shut  them  up  like  prisoners  in  their  own 
house.  I  declare,  I  feel  utterly  at  a  loss." 

"  Hadn't  we  better  try  to  get  into  the  country  for  a 
couple  of  months?"  suggested  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that,"  replied  the  wife.  "I 
don't  see  what  better  we  can  do.  It  would  be  very  plea 
sant  for  all  of  us.  We  might  get  boarding  in  some  nice 
farm  house,  where  there  was  plenty  of  good  milk,  fruit 
and  vegetables.  Oh !  it  would  be  delightful  for  the  chil 
dren  ;  and  I  would  enjoy  it  almost  as  much  as  any  of 
them." 
•  Mrs.  Jenkins's  imagination  warmed  at  the  very  thought. 

"It's  the  best  thing  we  can  do,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins. 
"  The  only  drawback,  is  the  necessity  for  my  being  in  the 
city  every  day." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  you  know,"  returned  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
confidently,  "  it  will  be  easy  to  get  a  place  so  near  to  the 
city  that  you  can  come  in  early  in  the  morning,  and  go 
out  before  dark  in  the  evening.  Cars,  steamboats,  and 
stages,  afford  every  facility  of  this  kind." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  the  husband.  "Still, 
there  is  nothing  like  trying.  How  would  you  like  a  place 
in  Germantown  ?  The  cars  run  frequently,  and  pass  over 
the  distance  in  some  twenty  minutes." 

"I  wouldn't  like  that  at  all,"  was  promptly  answered. 
"  Germantown  isn't  the  country.  I  want  to  go  right  into 
the  country." 

"  That  would  be  better,  certainly." 

"  A  plain  country  farm-house,  well  shaded,  with  good, 
substantial  country  fare,  will  be  cheapest  and  best.  If 
we  go  to  the  country,  let  us  go  to  the  country." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  Well,  if  we  go,  we  must  not 
hesitate  nor  delay  about  the  matter.  Here  it  is  mid-sum 
mer,  and  the  season  rapidly  passing  away." 

"I'm  really  in  earnest,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"I  like  the  idea  very  much,"  returned  Mr.  Jenkins. 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  51 

And  they  continued  to  talk  and  think  about  the  matter 
during  the  evening,  and  lay  awake  canvassing  it  for  an 
hour  or  two  after  retiring  to  bed.  The  result  was,  a 
unanimous  decision  to  go  into  the  country  as  soon  as  a 
suitable  place  could  be  found. 

On  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Jenkins  referred  to  the 
"Boarding  and  To  Let"  column  of  the  Ledger,  with  an 
interest  never  before  felt  in  that  department  of  the  paper. 
To  his  great  satisfaction,  he  found  several  advertisements 
headed  "  Country  Boarding,"  two  of  which  appeared  to 
suit  his  case  exactly.  One  of  these  read  thus  : — "  A  re 
spectable  family  can  obtain  country  boarding,  at  a  farm 
house  delightfully  situated  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  in 
one  of  the  healthiest  and  most  romantic  districts  of  coun 
try  in  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia.  Terms  moderate. 
Inquire  at  No.  — ,  Market  street."  The  other  was  in 
these  words  :— "  A  small  family,  desiring  genteel  country 
boarding  in  a  farm-house,  with  all  the  comforts  of  a  home, 
will  hear  of  such  a  place  by  inquiring  at  No.  — ,  Second 
street." 

With  these  two  advertisements  in  his  pocket-book,  Mr. 
Jenkins  started  forth  after  breakfast,  eager  to  secure  one 
of  the  places  in  advance  of  any  other  application.  His 
first  call  was  in  Market  street,  at  a  store  where  some  kind 
of  botanic  medicines  were  sold.  A  man  was  behind  the 
counter  putting  up  a  package  for  a  customer. 

"You  advertised  something  about  country  boarding," 
said  Mr.  Jenkins,  confidently. 

"Country  boarding?"  returned  the  man,  as  if  he  was 
not  certain  that  he  heard  aright. 

"Yes;  at  a  farm-house  near  the  city." 

"I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,"  said  the  man, 
indifferently,  looking  down  at  the  package  he  was 
tying  up. 

"Is  this  No.  — ?"  inquired  Mr.  Jenkins,  as  he  took 
the  advertisement  from  his  pocket-book,  and  examined  it 
carefully. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  that  is  my  number,"  was  replied. 

"  Did  you  put  in  this  advertisement  ?"  and  Mr.  Jenkins 
handed  him  the  bit  of  paper  he  had  cut  from  the 
Ledger. 


52  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

The  man  looked  at  it  for  some  time  before  light  broke 
in  upon  his  mind. 

"  Oh  !"  he  at  length  said.  "  Now  I  remember.  Yes, 
yes.  It's  up  the  Schuylkill,  about  a  mile  from  Spring 
Mill."  ^ 

"  Is  it  a  pleasant  place  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"  Well,  I  guess  so.  But  I  don't  know  much  about  it. 
Never  was  there." 

"  Who  put  in  this  advertisement  ?"  asked  Jenkins. 

"  The  man  who  lives  there." 

"At  the  farm-house?" 

"Yes." 

"  What's  his  name  ?" 

"Hodge." 

"  Where  can  I  see  him  ?" 

"  He's  in  town  twice  a  week,  Wednesdays  and  Satur 
days.  Or  you  can  go  out  to  his  place." 

"  How  can  I  get  there  ?"  asked  Jenkins. 

"  You  go  out  to  Spring  Mill  on  the  Norristown  railroad ; 
but  I  don't  know  how  you  get  over  to  Hodge's  place." 

"It's  a  mile  from  the  river,  you  say?" 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  his  terms  ?" 

The  man  shook  his  head,  and  answered — 

"  The  fact  is,  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it.  Mr. 
Hodge  said  he  would  refer  to  me,  and  he  has  done  so  ;  but 
I  have  no  particular  information  to  give  applicants." 

"  He'll  be  in  town  on  Wednesday,  you  say  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man;  and  Jenkins  departed. 

Next  he  applied  in  Second  street,  and  learned  that  the 
"farm-house,"  which  promised  all  the  comforts  of  a  home, 
was  situated  in  Bucks  county,  about  nine  miles  from 
Bristol.  This  wouldn't  do.  It  would  take  up  too  much 
of  his  time  to  travel  some  sixty  miles  daily,  and  he  couldn't 
think  of  being  separated  from  his  family. 

Twenty  acquaintances  were  asked  that  day  if  they 
knew  where  country  boarding  was  to  be  had.  From  some 
who  had  tried  the  experiment  he  did  not  get  very  flatter 
ing  accounts ;  others  said  they  had  been  endeavouring  for 
weeks  to  find  a  place  that  suited  them,  but  without  suc 
cess.  Then  one  spoke  discouragingly  of  a  farm-house  or 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  53 

private  family,  and  advised  a  country  tavern,  where  formal 
preparations  for  boarders  were  made  ;  another  said,  "  G6 
over  into  New  Jersey,  by  all  means;"  while  another  said, 
"  Go  anywhere  but  in  New  Jersey."  By  the  close  of  the 
day,  Jenkins  was  quite  bewildered  on  the  subject  of  coun 
try  boarding.  A  little  conversation  with  his  wife,  how 
ever,  brought  his  mind  clear  a,gain.  The  location  was  to 
be  a  farm-house  in  Pennsylvania,  a  few  miles  from  the 
city,  easy  of  access,  and  plentifully  surrounded  with  shade- 
trees. 

On  the  next  morning,  two  or  three  new  advertisements 
appeared  in  the  Ledger.  One  of  these  seemed  the  very 
thing.  It  described  a  farm-house,  pleasantly  situated 
amid  romantic  scenery,  and  easy  of  access  by  stages 
several  times  a  day.  As  inquiry  was  to  be  made  on  the 
premises,  Mr.  Jenkins  concluded  to  go  out  in  the  after 
noon  ;  and,  for  this  purpose,  hired  a  wagon.  The  distance 
was  between  four  and  six  miles  on  the  West  Chester  road ; 
and  he  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  neighbourhood  he 
sought.  On  inquiring,  he  learned  that  the  farm-house  he 
wished  to  visit  was  half  a  mile  from  the  turnpike,  on  a 
cross  road,  which  he  took  and  kept  on  his  way.  In  due 
time,  he  arrived  at  the  place  to  which  he  had  been  re 
ferred  ;  but  looked  around,  in  vain,  for  the  elegant  situa 
tion  his  mind  had  pictured. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Crabtree  lives  ?"  inquired 
Jenkins,  of  a  man  whom  he  met. 

"  There,"  said  the  man,  pointing  to  a  small,  dingy-look 
ing  house  a  short  distance  from  the  road,  near  which  shot 
up  three  or  four  unsightly  and  decaying  Lombardy  pop 
lars,  and  around  which  clustered  a  few  bits  of  shrubbery, 
and  one  or  two  old  pear-trees,  that,  if  good  for  fruit,  were 
nearly  guiltless  of  any  effort  at  shade. 

"  That  can't  be  the  place  of  which  I  am  in  search." 
And  Jenkins  shook  his  head  positively.  "  I'm  looking 
for  a  Mr.  Crabtree,  who  takes  summer  boarders." 

"  There's  no  other  Mr.  Crabtree  in  the  neighbourhood," 
replied  the  man. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?" 

"I  ought  to  be ;  for  I've  lived  hereabout  all  my  life." 

"Does  this  person  take  summer  boarders?" 

5* 


54  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

"  He's  going  to  this  summer.     I  heard  him  say  so." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  ?"  now  inquired  Jenkins. 

"  A  very  nice  man,"  was  the  unqualified  answer. 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  poor  kind  of  a  house." 

"  I  wish  I  had  as  good  a  one,"  was  replied  to  this. 

"And  you're  sure  that  is  the  place?"  said  Jenkins. 

"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Crab  tree  lives  there,"  answered  the  man. 

"  How  will  I  get  to  the  house  ?" 

"  Keep  along  until  you  come  to  the  old  cherry-tree 
yonder,  and  turn  off  into  the  lane." 

Jenkins  thanked  the  man  for  his  information  and  rode 
on,  the  ardour  of  his  anticipations  sensibly  cooled.  At 
the  old  cherry-tree  he  turned  off,  and  approached  the 
house,  which  did  not  greatly  improve  in  his  eyes  as  he 
came  nearer  and  nearer.  It  was  built  of  stone,  and  was 
two  stories  high ;  but  all  its  dimensions  were  contracted. 
Over  the  door  was  a  narrow  portico,  supported  by  wooden 
posts  that  had  once  been  white.  Upon  this  clambered  a 
neglected  honeysuckle.  No  walk  led  to  the  door,  and 
the  grass  grew  rankly,  interspersed  with  weeds,  in  front. 
The  ordinary  entrance  to  the  house  was,  evidently,  on  the 
other  side. 

The  lane  terminated  at  a  barn,  where  Jenkins  dismount 
ed  and  fastened  his  horse.  Then  he  entered  a  small  gate, 
and,  by  a  pathway,  advanced  to  the  house.  He  had 
moved  along  the  path  a  few  rods,  and  was  near  the 
dwelling,  when,  suddenly,  with  a  deep-mouthed  yell,  out 
sprang  a  savage-looking  dog,  and  made  toward  him  with 
the  evident  purpose  of  trying  the  quality  of  his  flesh. 

"  Get  out !"  roared  Jenkins,  in  sudden  terror — for  the 
animal  was  as  large  and  fierce-looking  as  a  wolf — and  he 
stooped  to  pick  up  a  stone. 

"  Get  out !"  responded  a  louder  and  hoarser  voice  than 
his.  "  Get  out,  Nero  !" 

And  Farmer  Crabtree  ran  from  the  house,  and  called 
off  the  savage  beast  just  as  he  was  about  springing,  with 
mouth  extended,  upon  Jenkins.  The  dog  retired,  suspi 
cious  and  growling  at  the  strange  intruder;  and  the 
farmer  said — 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  sir.     He  won't  bite  you." 

"  Oh  no !  I'm  not  alarmed,"  returned  Jenkins,  in  a 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  55 

voice  that  trembled  so  much  that  he  could  scarcely 
articulate. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Farmer  Crabtree;  and  Jenkins  fol 
lowed  him  into  the  house. 

"You  advertised  to  take  summer  boarders,"  remarked 
Jenkins  as  they  entered. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  farmer.  "  We  think  of  taking  a 
family  or  two.  We  have  a  snug  place  here,  and  some 
room  to  spare.  Do  you  wish  to  get  boarding  ?" 

"I  do." 

"For  yourself  alone  ?" 

"  For  my  family.  But  I  hardly  think  you  have  room 
here  for  so  large  a  family  as  mine."  And  Jenkins 
glanced  around  the  apartment. 

"How  many  have  you?"  asked  Crabtree. 

"Nine.     Myself  and  wife,  six  children  and  a  nurse." 

"How  old  are  the  children?" 

"My  oldest  boy  is  fourteen,  and  my  youngest  three." 

"  Plenty  of  room  for  even  more.  Will  you  walk  up 
stairs  and  look  at  the  chambers?" 

Jenkins  expressed  a  willingness  to  do  so,  when  the 
farmer  called  his  wife,  and  they  ascended  to  the  next 
floor. 

"This  is  our  spare  room,"  said  the  farmer's  wife,  "and 
a  snug  room  it  is.  If  a  body  couldn't  be  comfortable 
here,  they  couldn't  be  comfortable  anywhere." 

The  room  was  about  ten  feet  by  twelve,  and  had 
windows  on  two  sides.  A  four-post  bedstead,  that  looked 
as  if  it  might  have  been  made  prior  to  the  Revolution, 
stood  in  one  corner,  and  on  this  was  a  plethoric  feather 
bed,  covered  with  a  patchwork  quilt.  The  rest  of  the 
furniture  consisted  of  four  Windsor  chairs ;  a  tall,  three- 
legged  toilet-table,  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  whereon 
rested  a  new  toilet-glass,  the  price  of  which  was  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  fifty  cents ;  and  a  small,  stained 
pine-table,  or  stand  for  holding  a  washhand-basin  and 
pitcher.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  rag-carpet. 

"This  is  our  best  room,"  said  the  farmer's  wife,  with 
the  tone  and  manner  of  one  who  felt  some  pride  in  her 
housekeeping. 

After  Jenkins  had  fully  surveyed  the  apartment,  he 


56  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

was  shown  a  small  chamber  adjoining,  that  covered  the 
entry.  Above  were  two  garret-rooms,  each  one  half  the 
size  of  the  "best  room." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Crabtree,  "your  two  youngest 
children  sleep  in  the  room  with  you." 

Jenkins  assented  to  this. 

"Two  could  sleep  in  the  little  room  over  the  entry,  and 
two  in  one  of  the  garrets,  while  your  servant  could  have 
the  other  garret  all  to  herself." 

This  was  a  very  nice  arrangement.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  house  had  been  built  for  the  especial  accommodation 
of  Jenkins's  family ;  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  Mr. 
Jenkins  did  not  feel  very  much  flattered  by  the  apparent 
foresight  of  the  builder. 

"What  are  your  terms?"  next  inquired  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"Five  dollars  for  grown  persons,  and  three  for  children 
and  servants,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"Rather  a  high  price  for  such  accommodations,"  said 
Jenkins. 

This  remark  was  not  at  all  relished  by  the  farmer's 
wife,  who  was  about  making  a  tart  reply,  but  was  re 
strained  by  a  glance  from  her  more  prudent  husband,  who 
said — 

"We  might  take  your  family  for  thirty  dollars." 

Jenkins  was  by  no  means  tempted,  and  hesitated  not  to 
say  that  he  did  not  think  their  terms  would  suit  him. 
The  Crabtrees  then  retraced  a  little,  and  finally  agreed  to 
take  the  family  for  twenty-five  dollars. 

"Your  rooms  are  too  small,"  said  Jenkins. 

"  They're  a  very  fair  size,  contended  the  farmer's  wife. 
"And,  moreover,"  she  added,  "you  don't  expect  to 
stay  in  your  rooms  all  the  time.  People  come  into  the 
country  to  get  fresh  air.  Your  children  will  live  out  of 
doors." 

The  house  stood  on  rising  ground,  and  commanded  a 
very  fine  view.  To  this  the  farmer  called  the  attention 
of  Jenkins,  who  was  charmed  with  the  prospect.  Then 
the  farmer  praised  every  thing  appertaining  to  the  place. 
The  water  was  the  best  within  five  miles,  and  there 
wasn't  a  healthier  situation  to  be  found.  His  wife  was 
one  of  the  best  cooks  in  the  world,  and  kindness  itself. 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  57 

So  earnest  was  the  farmer  in  his  laudations,  that 
Jenkins  began  to  doubt  the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes,  and 
at  length  came  to  think  that  he  had  found  a  very  desirable 
location.  Finally  he  went  away,  promising  to  bring  his 
wife  out  to  look  at  the  place.  As  he  rode  homeward, 
and  saw  along  the  way  one  elegant  seat  after  another, 
the  few  attractions  he  had  observed  in  the  farm-house 
entirely  faded  from  his  imagination.  Still,  he  did  not 
make  an  altogether  unfavourable  report,  though  he  spoke 
in  rather  qualified  terms. 

Three  or  four  more  days  were  passed  in  looking  after 
a  suitable  place  for  the  family  to  rusticate  in  for  a  couple 
of  months ;  but  nothing  offered  that  had  not  some  objection 
of  too  serious  a  nature  to  be  overcome. 

"I  don't  see  what  we  are  to  do,  unless  we  take  that 
place  on  the  West  Chester  road,"  said  Jenkins,  discouraged 
at  last  in  his  efforts  to  find  country  boarding.  "  There'll 
be  one  advantage.  We'll  have  the  house  all  to  ourselves. 
It's  a  secluded  place,  and  the  children  will  be  safe." 

"You  said  the  rooms  were  small,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  glancing  around  the  large,  airy,  handsomely 
furnished  chamber  in  which  they  were  seated. 

"Yes:  they  are  rather  small.  But  that  is  the  case 
generally,  at  least  so  far  as  the  chambers  are  concerned, 
in  country  houses.  Suppose  you  ride  out  with  me  to 
morrow  and  look  at  the  place?" 

"Do  you  think  it  worth  while  for  me  to  do  so?"  asked 
Mrs.  Jenkins.  "  You  have  been  there,  and  can  judge  of 
it  as  well  as  I  can." 

"It  seems  to  be  that  or  nothing,"  said  Jenkins. 

"  Then  you'd  better  go  out  and  secure  it  for  the  season. 
We  only  want  boarding  for  a  couple  of  months,  and 
things  will  have  to  be  bad  indeed,  if  we  can't  endure 
them  for  that  length  of  time.  The  main  thing  is  to  get  our 
children  into  the  country  during  the  holidays,  and  give 
them  a  breath  of  pure  air  and  a  chance  to  run." 

So  it  was  concluded  to  engage  boarding  with  Farmer 
Crab  tree,  which  was  immediately  done. 


•58  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 


PAET  II. 

g  tjp 


IT  was  a  happy  day  in  the  house  when  Mr.  Jenkina 
made  known  the  fact  that  he  had  secured  summer  boarding 
with  Farmer  Crabtree  ;  for  every  mind,  natural  enough  to 
think,  was  filled  with  pleasant  anticipations.  Dick  and 
Tom  were  almost  wild  with  delight,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  felt 
so  excited  about  the  matter  that  she  hardly  knew  what  to 
do  with  herself. 

"How  much  we  shall  enjoy  the  summer!"  said  the 
latter  over  and  over  again.  "What  a  change  from  hot, 
sweltering  walls  to  cool  and  pleasant  woods  and  fields  ! 
From  the  stifling,  stagnant  air  of  a  crowded  city  to  a  pure 
and  breezy  atmosphere  !  And,  then,  I  shall  feel  so 
relieved  about  the  children.  Tom  and  Dick  will  have  a 
free  range." 

"Above  all,"  would  remark  the  husband,  "we  shall 
secure  health,  that  greatest  of  all  blessings." 

Here  was  the  broadest  resting-place  for  Mr.  Jenkins, 
as  his  thoughts  went  on  toward  the  untried  future  —  the 
future  of  country  boarding.  That  somebody  would  be 
disappointed,  he  had  serious  misgivings  ;  but  health  would 
compensate  for  any  drawbacks  to  personal  comfort  which 
might  happen  to  arise;  and  that  such  drawbacks  would 
come  he  felt  too  well  assured,  as  the  image  of  that  little 
house  and  its  little  rooms  stood  forth  distinctly  before  the 
eyes  of  his  mind. 

Well,  in  due  time  the  family  of  Mr.  Jenkins  was  ready 
for  its  summer  migration.  Carpets  had  been  taken  up 
and  packed  away  in  tobacco,  little  valuables  distributed, 
for  safe  keeping,  among  friends  not  so  fortunate  as  them- 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  61 

selves  in  being  able  to  escape  from  the  city,  and  all  the 
varied  necessary  arrangements  for  leaving  the  town-house 
completed.  The  superintendence  of  all  this,  with  a  great 
part  of  the  actual  labour,  fell  upon  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who 
was,  by  the  time  every  thing  was  ready  for  the  move,  so 
completely  worn  down  with  fatigue  that  she  could  hardly 
stand. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  one  of  the  hottest  and 
most  oppressive  days  of  the  season,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  a  domestic,  and  four  children  (Dick  and  Tom 
had  gone  out  in  the  morning  in  a  furniture  wagon,  by 
which  had  been  sent  trunks  of  clothing  and  a  few  articles 
of  furniture,)  took  their  seats  in  a  carriage  and  started 
for  their  summer  retreat. 

"Oh,  how  my  head  does  ache!"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
placing  her  hand  upon  her  forehead.  "  It  has  ached  all 
day  as  if  it  would  burst.  I  really  feel  sick." 

"  You  have  over-fatigued  yourself.  The  day  has  been 
excessively  hot,  and  you  have  worked  too  hard.  But  a 
season  of  rest  and  renovation  is  before  you." 

"  And  thankful  I  am  for  it.  How  glad  I  shall  feel 
when  I  can  lay  my  head  upon  my  pillow  to-night,  far 
away  from  the  heat  and  noise  and  stifling  airs  of  the 
city!" 

The  carriage  was  moving  on  briskly,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  they  were  over  the  bridge  and  beyond  West 
Philadelphia,  with  the  country  all  around  them. 

"How  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  they 
passed  one  of  the  neatest  and  most  highly  improved 
places  on  the  road. 

"It  is  indeed  very  beautiful,"  returned  Mr.  Jenkins, 
half  sighing  as  he  spoke ;  for,  in  strong  contrast  came  up 
in  his  imagination  the  really  unimproved,  comfortless,  and 
uninviting  domicil  of  Farmer  Crabtree,  and  he  felt  that  in 
the  mind  of  Mrs.  Jenkins  were  types  and  shadows  of 
things  in  country  life  not  to  be  realized. 

"Beautiful!  very  beautiful!"  came  from  the  lips  of 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  one  handsomely  improved  residence  after 
another  was  passed.  "How  much  I  shall  enjoy  myself!" 
she  would  add,  every  now  and  then.  "  I  always  liked  the 
country." 

6 


62  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

After  turning  off  from  the  main  road,  Mrs.  Jenkins 
ceased  her  admiring  remarks  and  leaned  back  in  the 
carriage.  They  had  ridden  about  half  a  mile  farther, 
and  were  near  the  old  cherry-tree  pointed  out  to  Mr. 
Jenkins  on  his  first  visit  to  that  neighbourhood,  when  the 
lady  said,  as  she  glanced  from  the  carriage-window — 

"  That's  a  mean-looking  place." 

The  eyes  of  Mr.  Jenkins  followed  the  direction  taken 
by  those  of  his  wife,  and  rested  on  the  not  very  attractive 
residence  of  Farmer  Crab  tree.  Even  less  attractive  than 
before  did  it  now  appear  in  his  eyes.  He  did  not  reply 
to  his  wife's  remark;  for  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  tell  her  the  truth :  and  yet  the  truth  must  come,  and 
that  right  speedily. 

"Turn  off  here,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins  to  the  driver  as  they 
reached  the  old  cherry-tree. 

"That  isn't  the  place!"  came,  in  a  quick  voice  of 
surprise  and  disappointment  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
as  she  leaned  from  the  carriage-window,  and  took  in,  at 
a  glance,  all  the  beauties  of  the  farm-house. 

"Yes;  this  is  the  place!"  returned  Mr.  Jenkins,  with 
assumed  cheerfulness.  "  You  have  the  worst  view  from 
this  point,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  apology. 

Mrs.  Jenkins  made  no  further  remark,  but  sank  back 
in  the  carriage,  while  a  shadow  came  stealing  over  her 
face. 

"How  my  head  does  ache!"  she  murmured,  a  few 
minutes  afterward. 

Arrived  at  last,  the  family  descended  from  the  carriage, 
and  were  received  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crabtree  with  all  due 
formality.  Poor  Mrs.  Jenkins  tried  to  be  cheerful  and 
look  pleased.  But  it  was  a  vain  effort.  She  was  really 
sick — sick,  as  well  from  disappointment  as  from  exhaus 
tion  and  fatigue.  And  this  was  the  nice  farm-house 
where  she  was  to  spend  the  summer  so  delightfully  ! 

"  Will  you  show  me  our  room  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
soon  after  their  entrance. 

Mrs.  Crabtree  conducted  her  to  the  room  which  had 
been  duly  set  apart. as  the  one  she  was  to  occupy  with  her 
husband,  and,  as  she  entered  it,  remarked — 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  63 

"  I  think  you  will  find  it  very  comfortable  here,  ma'am. 
This  is  our  spare  room." 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Jenkins  were  thrown  around  the 
apartment  eagerly. 

"It's  very  small,"  was  her  only  remark. 

"We  think  it  quite  a  sizeable  room,"  returned  Mrs. 
Crabtree,  in  a  voice  that  showed  a  slight  movement  of 
displeasure. 

"Will  you  ask  my  husband  to  come  up?"  said  Mrs. 
Jenkins. 

"Certainly,  ma'am."  And  Mrs.  Crabtree  left  the 
room. 

When  Mr.  Jenkins  entered  the  chamber,  he  found  his 
wife  sitting  near  one  of  the  windows  with  her  bonnet 
still  on. 

"  Can't  they  give  us  a  larger  room  than  this  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  my  dear.  It's  the  largest  chamber  in  the  house," 
replied  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"  We  can  never  breathe  in  a  closet  like  this.  I  feel 
suffocated  already.  How  close  and  impure  the  air  is!" 

Mr.  Jenkins  raised  two  of  the  windows  that  were  closed. 

"  Rag  carpet !  Ugh !  I  never  could  bear  rag  carpets !" 
now  muttered  Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  she  cast  her  eyes  upon  the 
floor.  Then  she  looked  toward  the  narrow,  mountain- 
like  bed,  and,  instantly  rising,  threw  herself  upon  it, 
sinking,  as  she  did  so,  some  two  feet  among  the  feathers. 

"  A  feather  bed  as  I  live !  Goodness !  I  can  never 
Bleep  on  that." 

"We'll  tell  them  to  give  us  a  mattrass,"  said  Mr. 
Jenkins,  calmly. 

"  Ten  chances  to  one  if  they  have  such  a  thing  in  the 
house,"  replied  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

And  so  it  proved;  for  the  chances  were  all  against  the 
mattrass. 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  murmured  poor  Mrs.  Jenkins. 
"If  this  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  country  boarding,  and 
there  are  to  be  many  more  of  the  same  kind,  we  will 
have  a  delightful  time  of  it." 

"We're  here  now,  and  must  try  and  make  the  best  we 
can  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Jenkins.  "You  will  soon  get  used 


64  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

to  little  inconveniences.  Health,  pure  air,  and  a  free 
range  for  the  children  are  the  main  things.  We  cannot 
expect  all  the  comforts  and  elegancies  of  a  city  residence." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  sighed.  For  a  little  while  longer  she  re 
mained  half  irresolute.  She  was  seriously  considering  the 
propriety  of  going  back  forthwith  to  the  city.  Then  she 
quietly  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  and  began  to  make  prepa 
rations  to  remain.  Nearly  her  first  act  was  to  go  to  the 
washstand  for  the  purpose  of  laving  her  hands  and  face 
in  cool  water.  But  the  pitcher  was  empty.  No,  not 
exactly  empty;  for  in  the  bottom  lay  a  dead  bird,  from 
which  came  a  strong  decaying  odour  as  she  lifted  the 
pitcher  from  its  place  in  the  basin. 

"Nice  preparations  for  boarders,"  said  the  lady  fret 
fully,  "and  a  pleasant  earnest  of  things  to  come.  I  wish 
you  would  go  down  and  tell  Hannah  to  bring  up  Mary 
and  Edward." 

Mr.  Jenkins  did  as  desired.  From  that  time  until  tea 
was  ready,  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  busy  with  the  children  and 
other  little  matters  of  preparation.  During  this  period 
Torn  and  Dick  had  come  in  with  red,  sunburnt  faces,  and 
clothes  soiled  to  an  extent  that  almost  agonized  the 
mother,  who  was  a  woman,  be  it  known,  who  had  "an  eye 
for  dirt."  They  had  found  a  running  stream  near  by, 
and  also  a  good-sized  pond.  Between  damming  the 
stream  and  sailing  on  old  planks  on  the  pond,  they  had 
managed  to  pass  a  delightful  day,  at  the  expense  of  a 
good  deal  of  suffering  on  the  part  of  their  clothes. 

At  tea-time,  Mrs.  Crabtree  looked  grave.  Her  first 
impressions  in  regard  to  Mrs.  Jenkins  were  not  good. 
Mrs.  Jenkins  was  quite  as  favourably  impressed  in  regard 
to  herself. 

"Have  you  a  mattrass?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins,  while 
they  yet  sat  at  the  tea-table. 

"A  mattrass!"  Mrs.  Crabtree  did  not  comprehend 
the  meaning  of  the  question. 

"Yes.     I  never  sleep  on  a  feather  bed." 

"  Oh !  a  mattrass !  No,  ma'am.  We  haven't  a  mattrass. 
But  you'll  find  that  a  very  nice,  comfortable  bed.  It  haa 
in  it  over  seventy  pounds  of  the  very  best  feathers." 

"I  would  die  before  morning!"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  65 

little  effort  to  hide  her  feelings.  "  I  will  thank  you  to 
have  the  bed  removed,  and  we  will  sleep  on  the  sacking 
to-night.  To-morrow  we  can  have  a  mattrass  brought 
out." 

"There  is  no  sacking-bottom  to  the  bed,"  replied  Mrs. 
Crabtree.  "It  is  corded." 

"Corded!" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Oh  dear !  Then  what  shall  we  do  ?  I'd  rather  sleep 
on  the  floor  than  on  that  feather  bed." 

"It's  a  good,  clean  feather  bed,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Crabtree,  an  indignant  flush  in  her  face  and  an  indignant 
tone  in  her  voice.  She  did  not  yet  fully  comprehend  the 
objection  of  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"We  do  not  in  the  least  doubt  that,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins, 
who  saw  that  their  landlady's  mind  was  somewhat  in  the 
dark.  The  feather  bed  is  all  that  one  could  desire ;  but 
we  never  sleep  on  any  thing  but  a  mattrass,  winter  or 
summer.  Perhaps  you  have  a  straw  bed  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  There  is  a  good  straw  one  under  the  feather 
bed. 

"Just  the  thing!"  replied  Mr.  Jenkins.  "Take  away 
the  feather  bed,  and  we'll  do  very  well." 

So  that  difficulty  was  settled. 

The  night  that  followed  proved  to  be  a  most  sultry  one. 
The  youngest  child  lay  in  a  crib  beside  the  bed,  on  which 
reclined — we  will  not  say  slept — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins 
with  another  child.  On  the  side  next  the  crib  were  two 
windows  ;  but  neither  of  them  could  be  left  open,  because 
the  crib  was  not  three  feet  from  them,  and  what  little  air 
was  stirring  came  from  that  quarter,  and  it  was  not  safe 
to  let  it  blow  on  little  Mary,  who  was  subject  to  croup. 
Into  the  other  two  windows,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  which 
were  partly  raised,  came  not  a  breath  to  fan  into  some 
thing  like  living  motion  the  sluggish  air  of  the  chamber. 

Not  for  years  had  Mrs.  Jenkins  slept  without  a  light 
in  her  chamber.  But  she  was  doomed  to  make  the  expe 
riment  on  this  occasion.  Such  a  thing  as  an  oil  lamp 
there  was  not  in  the  house.  A  long  tallow  candle  was  lit 
on  retiring  to  bed,  with  the  hope  that  it  would  burn  all 
night.  Twice  had  Mr.  Jenkins  been  roused  by  his  wife 

6* 


66  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

from  a  transient  doze,  once  to  snuff  this  candle,  and  once 
to  remove  a  fragment  of  wick  that  was  causing  it  to 
"gutter"  at  a  most  alarming  rate. 

"  I  wish  you  would  see  what  o'clock  it  is,"  said  the 
restless  lady,  arousing  her  husband  for  the  third  time. 
"It  can't  be  long  from  morning." 

"It's  just  one  o'clock,"  replied  Mr.  Jenkins,  as  he 
brought  his  watch  to  the  candle. 

"  Only  one  o'clock  !  It  will  never  be  daylight !"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Try  and  get  to  sleep,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"  Sleep  !  There  isn't  a  wink  of  sleep  in  me.  There  ! 
What  is  that?" 

Mrs.  Jenkins  raised  herself  up  as  a  bird  flew  in  at  the 
window,  and  commenced  dancing  about  the  room. 

"  It's  a  bat.  Take  care  !"  replied  Mr.  Jenkins.  "Don't 
let  it  fall  on  your  head.  They  bite  terribly." 

This  was  enough  to  cause  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  drop  down 
as  if  shot,  and  bury  her  face  in  the  clothes.  Mr.  Jenkins 
lay  for  a  minute  or  two,  watching  the  bird  as  it  flew  about 
the  room.  Then  rising,  he  tried  to  drive  it  out.  While 
engaged  in  this  interesting  employment,  the  bat  darted 
against  the  candle,  and  instantly  the  room  was  in  dark 
ness.  Here  was  a  dilemma  !  There  were  no  matches  at 
hand,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  afraid  to  let  her  husband  go 
down-stairs  to  relight  the  candle.  To  add  to  the  per 
plexity  of  the  moment,  little  Mary  awoke  and  commenced 
crying  for  a  drink  of  water.  Feeling  his  way  in  the  dark, 
Mr.  Jenkins  succeeded  in  finding  the  pitcher,  and,  after  a 
further  search  of  nearly  a  minute,  made  out  to  turn  up  a 
tumbler.  Twice,  during  the  time  occupied  in  this  effort, 
the  bat  swept  so  close  to  his  face  that  its  wings  brushed 
his  cheek.  At  length  a  glass  of  water  was  brought  to  the 
child's  lips,  and  she  ceased  crying  and  commenced  drink 
ing.  But  only  a  mouthful  or  two  had  been  taken,  ere  she 
pushed  the  glass  away  and  spouted  the  water  from  her 
mouth,  saying  that  there  was  something  in  the  water. 
Eyes  being  of  no  use  under  the  circumstances,  Mrs.  Jen 
kins  thrust  her  fingers  into  the  tumbler,  and  found,  to  her 
horror,  as  many  as  two  or  three  bugs  therein,  about  the 
size  of  grains  of  coffee. 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  67 

"Oh,  mercy!"  she  exclaimed,  "Mary  has  swallowed  a 
bug,  as  sure  as  the  world  !  The  tumbler  is  full  of  them." 

At  this  Mary  began  to  cry  afresh — the  words  of  her 
mother  had  frightened  her — and  she  continued  to  cry  for 
the  next  hour.  That  was  a  night  long  to  be  remembered 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins.  It  seemed  to  them  as  if  day 
light  would  never  come.  Dripping  with  perspiration,  and 
almost  suffocated  in  the  dark,  close,  sultry  air,  they  lay 
murmuring  over  their  discomfort  until  morning.  As  for 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  she  declared,  unequivocally,  she  would  not 
remain  in  that  place  a  day  longer.  But,  after  the  sun 
had  arisen,  a  sober  consultation  was  held,  in  which  all  the 
pros  and  cons  were  fully  discussed.  The  result  was  a 
decision  to  remain  a  week  or  two  at  least,  and  give  the 
place  a  trial.  But,  in  order  to  do  this,  it  was  determined 
that  Mr.  Jenkins  should  send  out,  on  that  very  day, 
a  mattrass,  gauze  frames  for  the  windows,  to  keep  out 
bats  and  bugs  at  night,  oil  for  a  lamp,  matches,  and 
some  dozen  other  articles  that  were  now  seen  to  be  indis 
pensable. 

At  breakfast-time  the  family  met  at  the  table  in  the 
small  dining-room.  Bread  and  butter,  fried  bacon,  and 
coffee  composed  the  meal.  Mr.  Crabtree  was  absent ;  he 
had  started  for  the  city  with  his  marketing  before  day 
light,  taking  with  him  all  the  fresh-laid  eggs  and  new-made 
butter,  which  were  to  be  served  to  a  boarding-house  with 
which  he  had  a  contract  for  the  supply  of  these  articles. 
The  butter  on  the  table  was  scarcely  eatable ;  at  which 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  somewhat  wondered.  As  for  the 
coffee,  it  was  poor,  watery  stuff,  and  the  "  cream"  with 
which  Mrs.  Crabtree  sought  to  improve  its  quality  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  skim-milk. 

The  meal  passed  in  silence,  and  then  Mr.  Jenkins 
started  for  the  city.  He  had  to  walk  half  a  mile  in  order 
to  meet  the  stage.  In  the  afternoon,  having  sent  out  the 
mattrass  and  other  things  needed  for  their  comfort,  he 
left  in  the  stage. 

There  were  heavy  masses  of  clouds  in  the  west,  which 
Mr.  Jenkins  did  not  observe  until  after  leaving  the  city. 
He  did  not,  therefore,  provide  himself  with  an  umbrella. 
Blacker  and  blacker  grew  these  clouds,  and  by  the  time 


68  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

he  had  to  leave  the  stage  they  had  curtained  the  whole 
heavens.  Mr.  Jenkins,  fearful  of  being  caught  in  a  sum 
mer  shower,  hurried  on  his  way ;  but  he  had  not  gone 
half  the  distance  from  the  turnpike  to  Mr.  Crabtree's, 
before  down  came  the  rain  in  a  perfect  torrent.  He 
sought  the  shelter  of  a  tree,  after  getting  soaked  to  the 
skin,  and  stood  there  for  a  whole  hour.  But  still  it 
rained  on,  while  the  lightning  flashed  vividly,  and  the 
thunder  rolled  with  an  almost  incessant  jar.  At  last, 
beginning  to  feel  chilled  in  his  wet  garments,  Mr.  Jenkins 
concluded  that  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  get  home ;  so 
off  he  started,  in  the  face  of  the  driving  storm,  along  a 
road  now  ankle  deep  in  some  places  with  mud. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  Nero,  who  either  did  not 
know  him,  or  affected  ignorance  on  the  subject,  made  a  dash 
at  him,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  and  this  time  got  a  good 
mouthful  out  of  his  pantaloons  before  he  was  called  off  by 
Farmer  Crabtree,  who  gave  the  dog  a  sound  thrashing  for 
his  over-watchfulness.  For  this  Mr.  Jenkins  was  not  for 
given  by  Nero,  who  rarely  ever  suffered  him  to  get  peace 
ably  into  the  house  on  his  daily  return  from  the  city. 

That  night  was  a  more  comfortable  one  for  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  the  storm  cooled  the  atmosphere,  and 
they  had  better  sleeping  arrangements  than  at  first.  But, 
on  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Jenkins  found  himself  suffer 
ing  from  an  attack  of  rheumatism — an  old  friend  of  his, 
for  whom  he  had  no  very  particular  regard. 

It  took  over  a  week  for  the  family  of  Mr.  Jenkins  to 
get  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with  things  around  them 
to  understand  exactly  their  true  position.  By  this  time 
they  had  seen  a  little  deeper  into  the  economical  arrange 
ments  of  the  Crabtrees ;  but  not  deep  enough  to  enable 
them  to  comprehend  why,  being  in  the  country,  and  on  a 
farm,  they  should  have  so  few  of  the  luxuries  confidently 
anticipated.  But  on  this  head  they  were  in  due  time  en 
lightened. 

"I  know  the  reason,"  said  Tom,  the  oldest  boy,  to  his 
mother,  after  they  had  been  in  the  country  about  two 
weeks,  "why  we  never  have  good  butter." 

"  Well,  what  is  the  reason  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  They  send  it  all  to  market." 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  69 

"Not  all.     Some  is  kept  back  for  the  family." 

"  Indeed,  then,  and  not  a  pound  is  kept  back,"  said 
Tom.  "  Mr.  Crabtree  takes  all  they  make  to  town,  and 
sells  it  for  thirty-five  cents,  and  then  buys  butter  for  us 
at  a  quarter.  Mrs.  Crabtree  says  it's  good  enough  for 
boarders." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"I  heard  her  say  so." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  am.  And  all  the  fresh  eggs  are  taken  to 
market,  too.  The  fact  is,  they  take  every  thing  to  mar 
ket.  You  know  the  two  nice  pears  I  bought  you  the 
other  day.  Well,  Mr.  Crabtree  scolded  Dick  and  me 
like  every  thing  because  we  knocked  some  of  them  from 
the  tree,  and  said  it  was  no  better  than  stealing.  Yester 
day  he  stripped  the  tree,  and  to-day  all  the  fruit  was 
taken  to  market.  It's  too  bad.  I  don't  like  it  at  all.  I 
thought  when  I  came  to  the  country,  I'd  get  plenty  of 
fruit ;  but  I've  hardly  had  a  taste." 

When  Mr.  Jenkins  came  home  that  evening,  his  wife 
was  able  to  enlighten  him  on  the  subject  of  bad  butter. 

"  Can  this  really  be  true?"  asked  that  gentleman,  in 
an  incredulous  tone  of  voice.  "  Send  their  good  butter  to 
market  and  buy  bad  for  us,  when  we  are  paying  them 
twenty-five  dollars  a  week  ?  I'll  see  about  that." 

On  the  next  morning,  at  breakfast-time,  Mr.  Jenkins 
said,  after  tasting  the  butter,  and  then  replacing  the  small 
portion  he  had  taken  upon  the  butter-plate — 

"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Crabtree,  I  can't  eat  your  butter. 
You  must  have  very  bad  grass,  very  bad  cows,  or  else  be 
very  bad  butter-makers." 

The  faces  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crabtree  coloured  at 
this  unexpected  remark.  They  had  good  grass,  good 
cows,  and  were  good  butter-makers,  and  they  knew  it ; 
the  allegation  of  Mr.  Jenkins,  therefore,  touched  them  to 
the  quick. 

"  This  isn't  our  butter,"  was  stammered  out  in  some 
confusion  by  Mrs.  Crabtree. 

"  Not  your  butter  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jenkins,  in  affected 
surprise.  "  Oh,  I  was  not  aware  of  that.  Pray,  then, 
let  us  have  a  taste  of  yours,  for  this  is  execrable  stuff." 


70  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

Mrs.  Crabtree  could  do  no  less  than  order  a  print  of 
her  nice  yellow  butter  to  be  brought  upon  the  table. 

"  Ah !  that  is  butter !"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  as  he  tasted  it. 

The  way  nearly  a  pound  print  disappeared  was  distress 
ing  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crabtree. 

After  breakfast  Jenkins  took  the  farmer  aside. 

"Mr.  Crabtree,"  said  he,  "how  is  it  that  you  have 
been  giving  us  such  miserable  butter,  when  your  own  is 
of  good  quality?  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  All  my  butter  is  engaged  in  the  city,"  replied  the 
farmer. 

"It  is?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  I  must  serve  my  customers." 

"  And  all  your  eggs,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  So  I  had  begun  to  think,  not  having  seen  a  fresh  egg 
on  the  table  since  I  have  been  here.  All  your  cream  is 
made  into  butter?" 

"  It  is." 

"  I  now  understand  why  our  coffee  is  so  poor.  Well, 
Mr.  Crabtree,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  there  will  have  to  be  an 
immediate  reform,  or  you  will  lose  twenty-five  dollars  a 
week.  Perhaps  it  pays  you  better  to  sell  your  butter  and 
eggs  than  to  feed  them  to  your  boarders.  If  so,  go  on 
with  your  system,  and  we  will  go  back  to  the  city.  We 
pay  you  for  the  best  of  every  thing,  and  the  best  we  must 
have.  So  now  you  understand  me." 

There  was,  of  course,  quite  a  buzzing  in  the  Crabtree 
hive.  But  when  the  farmer  and  his  wife  made  a  calcula 
tion  of  loss  and  gain  on  the  butter-selling  and  butter-feed 
ing  operations,  they  wisely  concluded  to  adopt  the  latter 
system. 

After  that  the  Jenkinses  fared  a  little  better.  Still,  as 
to  real  comfort,  they  had  nothing  of  the  article.  In  the 
daytime  the  sun  poured  his  rays  all  around  the  little,  un 
protected  farm-house,  keeping  Mrs.  Jenkins  and  the 
younger  children  in-doors  or  confined  to  a  narrow  range 
without,  and  night  shut  them  up  in  small,  close  rooms, 
where  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  breathe.  Once  or 
twice  every  week  Mr.  Jenkins  missed  the  stage,  and  had 
to  walk  in  the  hot  sun  to  West  Philadelphia  for  an  omni- 


COUNTRY   BOAEDING.  71 

bus.  And  every  now  and  then  he  was  drenched  with  rain 
in  going  from  the  stage  to  the  farm-house.  Dick  and 
Tom  were  about  the  only  ones  who  really  enjoyed  them 
selves,  and  they  managed  every  day  to  get  their  clothes 
in  a  condition  that  completely  horrified  their  mother. 

Until  the  latter  part  of  August  this  country  comfort 
was  endured,  when,  on  returning  from  the  city  one  even 
ing,  Mr.  Jenkins  found  two  of  the  children,  Dick  and 
Mary,  quite  sick.  They  had  considerable  fever,  and  Dick 
was  a  little  out  of  his  head.  About  a  mile  away  lived  a 
doctor,  who  was  summoned  immediately. 

"What  do  you  think  ails  them?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
after  the  doctor  had  examined  the  children. 

"They  have  intermittent  fever,  I  presume,"  replied 
the  physician. 

"  Intermittent  fever  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"Intermittent  fever!"  said  the  father. 

"No  doubt  of  it.  It  is  prevailing  about  here  to  a 
great  extent,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Oh  dear  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "  Has  it  come  to 
this  ?  So  much  for  country  boarding  !" 

"  It  isn't  always  prudent  to  come  into  the  country  at 
this  season,"  remarked  the  doctor. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  sickly  about  here,"  said  Mr. 
Jenkins. 

"  It  isn't  ordinarily.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  of  in 
termittent  and  bilious  fever  just  at  this  time." 

"We  must  go  back  immediately !"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"Yes,  immediately!"  added  her  husband. 

And  so,  on  the  next  day,  the  Jenkinses  made  a  pre 
cipitate  flight  to  the  city,  with  two  sick  children. 


72  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 


PAET  III. 


ONE  of  the  hottest  of  August's  hot  days  was  that  on 
which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  returned  home  with  their 
family.  Their  flight  from  the  country  took  place,  as  did 
their  flight  from  the  city,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  that  experiment  is  over !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  the  carriage  in  which  she  had  taken  her 
seat  began  to  move  from  the  door  of  Farmer  Crabtree. 

"  Country  boarding  !  Save  the  mark  !"  muttered  Mr. 
Jenkins,  in  an  under  tone. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  get  home  again  with  my 
poor  children  !"  added  Mrs.  Jenkins.  Dear  Mary!  How 
sick  she  is !  Ah  me !  I'm  afraid  we  shall  pay  dear  for 
our  experiment." 

"A  change  of  air  and  good  medical  attendance  will 
bring  all  right  again,  I  hope,"  remarked  Mr.  Jenkins. 

"I  have  my  fears,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with  a  sigh. 
"Mrs.  Wheeler's  Milly  got  the  chills  year  before  last 
somewhere  up  the  Schuylkill,  and  was  sick  all  winter. 
Poor  little  fellow !  He  suffered  a  great  deal.  Just  to 
think  that  our  children,  who  have  always  been  so  healthy, 
should  get  such  a  miserable  disease  !" 

"  If  this  is  summer  boarding,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  break 
ing  the  silence  a  little  while  afterward,  "  save  me  from  a 
second  trial  of  its  pleasures  !" 

"  Such  a  life  as  I  have  lived  for  the  last  six  weeks ! 
Gracious !  What  would  induce  me  to  go  over  it  again  ?" 
remarked  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "  Shut  up  from  all  society  in 
that  little  den,  upon  which  the  sun  poured  down  from 
morning  till  night  with  melting  fervour,  and  deprived  of 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  75 

almost  every  thing  made  necessary  to  my  comfort  by 
habit,  I  have  merely  endured  existence.  And  then,  we 
have  all  lived  like  heathens.  For  six  weeks  neither  I  nor 
the  children  have  seen  the  inside  of  a  church.  As  for 
Tom  and  Dick,  they  have  run  perfectly  wild,  and  learned 
more  low  slang,  and,  I  fear,  vice,  from  the  farm  hands 
and  boys  about  the  neighbourhood  than  they  would  have 
learned  in  the  city  for  years." 

Mr.  Jenkins  sighed  at  this  strong  array  of  evils  attend 
ant  on  their  summer-boarding  experiment.  Nor  had  he 
escaped  without  some  pretty  serious  inroads  upon  his  per 
sonal  comfort,  to  say  nothing  of  the  return  of  his  old 
friend  the  rheumatism,  brought  back  by  more  than  one 
drenching  in  a  thunder-shower.  Quite  as  glad  was  he  as 
his  wife  to  quit  the  scene  of  their  rural  felicity. 

"  Oh  !  this  is  delightful !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jenkins,  sit 
ting  down  near  an  open  window  in  a  large,  airy  chamber, 
soon  after  arriving  at  home.  Hot  as  the  day  had  been, 
and  sultry  as  the  atmosphere  still  remained,  there  was  yet 
a  cool  draft  of  air  passing  through  the  chambers,  in  one  of 
which  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  seated.  "  How  foolish  we  were 
to  give  up  real  comfort  like  this !"  she  added. 

"  And  for  what  ?"  said  her  husband. 

"  Yes,  and  for  what  ?    You  may  well  ask  that  question." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Jenkins  !"  cried  the  nurse  at  this  moment, 
in  a  voice  of  alarm,  "  what  is  the  matter  with  Mary  ?" 

Mary's  chill  had  come  on  just  as  the  family  was  leaving 
Farmer  Crabtree's.  It  was  more  violent  than  the  preced 
ing  ones,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  very  high  fever,  which, 
commenced  rising  before  they  reached  the  city. 

The  startling  words  of  the  nurse  caused  Mrs.  Jenkins 
to  go  hurriedly  into  the  adjoining  chamber,  where  Mary 
lay  upon  a  bed. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Jenkins  !  See  how  she  looks  !"  said  the 
nurse.  "Her  eyes  are  set,  and  she  keeps  twisting  her 
face  and  working  her  body  so  strangely. 

"  Oh,  mercy  I  Mr.  Jenkins !  Run  for  the  doctor, 
quickly  !  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

Mr.  Jenkins,  who  had  hurried  in  after  his  wife,  exclaim 
ed,  as  soon  as  he  looked  at  the  child — 


76  COUNTRY    BOARDING. 

"  Bless  me !    She's  in  convulsions  !" 

"  Convulsions !  Oh,  dear  !  What  shall  we  do  ?  Oh, 
Mr.  Jenkins,  run,  run  for  the  doctor !" 

And  the  frightened  mother,  who  had  never  seen  a  child 
in  convulsions,  wrung  her  hands  like  one  distracted. 

"  Get  her  into  a  hot  bath  as  quickly  as  possibly,"  said 
Mr.  Jenkins,  assuming  a  calm  exterior,  although  he  felt 
much  alarmed,  "  and  I  will  go  for  the  doctor.  Make  the 
water  as  hot  as  your  hand  can  bear  it,  and  keep  her  in 
for  a  good  while.  I  will  be  back  very  soon." 

And  saying  this,  Mr.  Jenkins  hurried  away.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  elapsed  before  he  returned  with  a  physician ; 
and  full  three  hours  passed  ere  the  dreadful  spasms  that 
convulsed  the  frame  of  the  child  subsided. 

On  the  next  day,  the  chill  returned,  succeeded  by 
another  raging  fever.  With  an  anxious  heart  did  the 
mother  sit  by  Mary's  bedside,  hour  after  hour  watching 
eagerly  the  little  suiferer's  face,  and  trembling  all  the 
while  lest  there  should  be  another  return  of  convulsions. 
Happily  there  was  no  recurrence  of  these  frightful  symp 
toms  ;  but  the  poor  child's  system  was  so  shocked  by  the 
first  attack  that  she  remained  in  a  partial  stupor  for  two 
or  three  days,  giving  rise  to  the  fear  that  her  brain  had 
received  some  permanent  injury.  This,  however,  was  not 
the  case.  Still  the  fever  held  on  with  a  clinging  tenacity, 
that  for  a  time  defied  all  the  efforts  of  medicine.  Week 
after  week,  both  in  the  case  of  Dick  and  Mary,  there  was 
a  daily  return  of  the  chill  and  fever,  until  the  natural 
strength  of  good  constitutions  began  to  fail  under  the 
pressure  of  disease  and  the  debilitating  effects  of  strong 
and  active  remedies. 

Frost,  so  long  and  anxiously  looked  for,  as  having  power 
to  break  the  chills,  came ;  but  the  only  difference  in  the 
state  of  the  young  sufferers  was,  that  a  tertian  ague  took 
the  place  of  daily  chills  and  fevers.  This  continued  until 
Christmas,  when,  with  a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  they 
could  not  express,  the  parents  saw  the  fever  leave  their 
children.  But  troublesome  consequences  remained.  Poor 
little  Mary  was  swollen  around  her  waist  to  a  third  be 
yond  her  usual  size ;  and  the  doctor  gave  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Jenkins  the  not  very  consoling  information  that  one  or 


COUNTRY    BOARDING.  77 

two  years  might  pass  before  she  was  entirely  recovered 
from  the  bad  effects  that  too  often  follow  attacks  of  ague 
and  fever.  Moreover,  both  she  and  Dick  would  be  liable 
to  a  return  of  the  disease  in  the  ensuing  fall. 

Alone  with  the  children  did  not  rest  the  evil  conse 
quences  of  this  country-boarding  experiment.  Rheumatic 
twitches,  aches,  and  pains,  the  result  of  sundry  exposures 
to  drenching  rains,  took  a  more  serious  character  in  the 
case  of  Mr.  Jenkins  as  cold  weather  made  its  approaches ; 
and  before  winter  was  fairly  over,  he  had  to  take  his  place 
in  his  chamber,  and  endure  the  pangs  of  a  four  weeks' 
visitation  of  inflammatory  rheumatism. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  country  this  summer?"  said  a 
friend  to  Mr.  Jenkins,  early  in  June  last. 

"  For  what?"  asked  Jenkins,  rather  tartly. 

"Why,  for  comfort." 

u  Comfort!" 

u  Yes.     For  comfort  during  the  hot  months." 

u  Yes.  I  engaged  a  place  at  a  snug  little  farm-house 
yesterday." 

"  Hope  you  may  find  more  comfort  than  we  did  last 
year,"  said  Jenkins. 

"  Ain't  you  going  ?" 

"  Not  we.  One  season  cured  us  of  our  country-board 
ing  aspirations  \  and  you  will  be  cured  ere  September,  if 
you  get  as  snugly  fixed  as  we  were  at  farmer  Crabtree's." 

"  Crabtree's  !  There's  where  we  are  going,"  said  the 
friend. 

"  Is  it,  indeed  !  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  that  you'd  better 
stay  at  home." 

At  this,  the  friend  had  a  dozen  or  more  questions  to 
ask ;  and  Mr.  Jenkins  was  in  no  way  choice  of  his  words 
in  answering  them.  We  have  only  to  add  that  farmer 
Crabtree  was  not  successful  in  filling  his  house  with  board 
ers  last  summer. 

Of  course,  all  who  go  into  the  country  are  not  so 
thoroughly  disappointed  as  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
though  few  are  fortunate  enough  to  realize  their  pleasant 
anticipations.  Going  away  from  home  for  comfort,  either 
in  summer  or  winter,  is  not  the  most  certain  way  of  secur 
ing  the  object  desired. 


LARGE  STORIES. 


"  WONDERFUL  !"  exclaimed  one  of  a  group  of  listeners, 
who  were  hanging  on  the  words  of  a  moustached,  whis 
kered,  out-at-the-elbows-looking  fellow,  who  had  evidently 
seen  something  of  the  world,  though  clearly  to  no  great 
advantage  to  himself.  "  As  large  as  your  fist?" 

uYes,  sir!"  replied  the  relater. 

"Solid  gold?" 

"  Solid  and  pure  as  an  ingot.  Why,  I  saw  a  man  from 
one  of  the  *  digging'  on  Feather  Biver,  with  a  raw-hide 
78 


LARGE     STORIES.  79 

sack  that  would  hold  half  a  bushel,  full  of  lumps  that  he 
had  gathered  in  a  little  over  ten  days ;  not  one  of  which 
was  smaller  than  a  walnut." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  fell  from  two  or  three  voices. 

"  It  is  just  what  I  do  say." 

"Had  you  any  luck  in  digging?"  inquired  one. 

"  Certainly  I  had.  I  staid  only  a  month  in  the  i  dig- 
gins,'  and  came  down  to  Sacramento  with  over  twenty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  the  real  stuff/' 

"  Twenty  thousand  !" 

"Yes,  and  over." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  your  gold  ?"  asked  one. 

Whiskerendo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  compressed  sud 
denly  his  lips,  and  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"  Come  easy,  go  easy ;"  said  he.  "  It  was  spent  in  a 
month  after  I  reached  the  sea-coast." 

"What  did  you  do  then?" 

"  Got  a  situation  as  clerk  in  a  store,  at  three  hundred 
dollars  a  month." 

"  Good  wages,"  remarked  one  of  the  listeners. 

"  First  rate.  Grand  place,  that  California.  A  man's 
a  fool  to  plod  out  his  life  here." 

"  So  I  should  think,  provided  you  are  not  romancing," 
said  one  of  the  company. 

"  Romancing  !  There's  no  need  to  romance,  my  friend," 
returned  the  adventurer.  "  The  simple  truth  is  wonder 
ful  enough.  In  fact,  the  half  has  never  been  told ;  and, 
I  believe,  never  will  be  told.  The  riches  of  that  El  Do« 
rado  are  scarcely  yet  opened.  Take  my  advice,  every 
one  of  you,  and  make  all  haste  for  this  golden  region. 
There  is  room  enough  left  for  thousands  to  work  and 
secure  untold  riches." 

Among  the  listeners  was  an  old  fellow  named  Grimes, 
who  had  said  nothing,  but  who  had  occasionally  let  his 
eye  rest  upon  the  talker  with  a  half-sarcastic,  half-comical 
twinkle. 

"  See  here,  my  friend,"  said  California,  drawing  up  a 
chair  to  the  table  at  which  this  personage  was  sitting, 
and  addressing  him  in  a  familiar  way,  "  why  don't  you 
pull  up  stakes,  and  travel  off  to  this  land  of  promise  ?  A 
man's  a  fool  to  vegetate  in  this  part  of  the  country,  pur- 


80  LARGE     STORIES. 

suing  the  vanishing  shadow  of  a  fortune,  when  he  has 
only  to  step  across  the  isthmus,  glide  up  the  coast,  and 
fill  his  pockets  with  a  hundred  or  two  thousands  of  dol 
lars  in  a  few  months." 

"  That  can  be  easily  done,  can  it?"  said  the  old  fellow. 

"  Pho !  I  washed  ten  thousand  dollars  out  of  a  few 
bushels  of  sand  in  a  single  day." 

"You  did?" 

"  Certainly.     Any  body  can  do  it." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  stay  there,  my  friend  ?"  coolly 
asked  the  other. 

Whiskerendo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  arched  his  eye 
brows,  pursed  his  lips,  and  made  sundry  other  dumb 
motions. 

"  You  seem  to  be  pretty  well  out  at  the  elbows,  and 
pretty  well  out  in  the  pocket,"  continued  the  other. 
"  Where  are  all  these  heaps  of  shining  gold  you  talk  so 
much  about?" 

"  Come  easy,  go  easy ;"  and  California  shrugged  his 
shoulders  again.  "  Spent  ten  thousand  dollars  in  Sacra 
mento  city  in  a  fortnight.  Great  place,  that." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  back  to  the  mines  again  ?" 

"  Didn't  like  the  company  there.     Horrible  place  !" 

"  Oho  !  And  yet,  a  moment  since,  you  pictured  it  as 
the  most  desirable  spot  on  the  earth  !  But  why  didn't 
you  stay  in  Sacramento,  on  a  salary  of  three  hundred 
dollars  a  month,  eh  ?  Tell  us  that,  my  friend.  You  can't 
make  three  hundred  dollars  a  year,  I  fancy,  in  these 
diggins' !  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  sir?"  exclaimed  Califor 
nia,  at  this,  growing  fierce,  and  beginning  to  finger  his 
moustache.  "I  never  permit  a  man  to  insult  me." 

"I  only  asked  a  very  natural  question,"  coolly  replied 
the  interrogator,  without  moving,  or  taking  his  eyes  from 
the  other's  face.  "  You're  not  the  first  man  I've  seen 
from  the  gold  region,  who  came  back  with  empty  pockets 
and  large  stories.  I  always  ask  such  adventurers  why 
they  didn't  stay  there,  but  have  yet  to  receive  an  answer 
to  my  question.  Pray,  sir,  gratify  my  curiosity." 

California  couldn't  stand  this ;  the  more  especially  as 
one  and  another  of  the  group  he  had  been  edifying, 


LARGE    STORIES.  81 

repeated  the  interrogation.  So  he  took  refuge  under  a 
torrent  of  bad  language,  and  retired  from  the  company 
in  high  indignation. 

"  I  can  tell  you  why  he  left,"  said  one,  who  had,  until 
now,  been  silent. 

"  Why  ?"     "  Why  ?"  was  repeated  all  around. 

"You  know  him,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes."     "  Yes."     «  Charles ." 

The  man  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  read — 

"  You  remember  Charles .  Well,  he  left  in  the 

last  steamer  for  Panama,  and  took  with  him  some  three 
or  four  thousand  dollars  in  gold  dust,  belonging  to  a 
friend.  He's  a  bad  man,  and  conducted  himself  scanda 
lously  while  here.  It  would  hardly  do  for  him  to  return." 

"  Hum-m-m  !"  "  Oho  !"  "  Aha !"  Such  were  the  low 
ejaculations  that  followed  this  little  piece  of  information. 
"That  explains  his  coming  back." 

California  never  again  appeared  in  that  company,  nor 
repeated  his  large  stories  in  the  presence  of  old  Grimes. 


ANY  THING  OVER  TO-DAY?" 


JENKINS  was  an  honest,  simple-mirded  man,  little 
versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world.  Being  without  capital, 
and  having  a  salary,  as  clerk  in  a  mercantile  house,  only 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  himself  and  those  dependent 
on  him,  no  thought  of  going  into  business  entered  his 
mind.  A  clerk  he  was,  and  a  clerk  he  expected  to  remain. 
One  after  another  of  his  fellow-quilldrivers  had  broken 
through  their  cerements,  and  arisen  into  the  station  and 
dignity  of  merchants ;  but  he  was  still  at  the  desk,  and 
anticipated  no  such  change  for  himself.  One  day,  a 
young  man  named  Tompkins,  who  had  started  out  in  life 
two  or  three  years  before,  said  to  him — 

"  Jenkins,  my  old  friend,  why  don't  you  go  into  busi 
ness  ?  You  are  wasting  the  best  years  of  your  existence." 

Jenkins  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  half  sighed  the 
word 

"  Capital !" 

"You  don't  need  any  capital,"  replied  Tompkins. 

Jenkins  elevated  his  eyebrows  with  a  look  of  wonder. 

"Credit  is  capital,"  said  Tompkins. 

"  Oh  !     But  where's  the  credit  to  come  from  ?" 

"  There  are  plenty  of  men  who  will  sell  you  goods. 
I've  never  found  any  difficulty.  I  started  without  a  hun 
dred  dollars,  and  am  now  doing  business  to  the  amount 
of  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year." 

"So  much?" 

"  Yes,  every  dollar  of  it ;  and,  if  my  good  luck  goes 
on,  I'll  do  seventy  thousand  dollars  worth  next  year." 

"And  your  only  capital  was  your  credit?" 
82 


Anything  over  To-day? 


83 


ANY    THING    OVER    TO-DAY?  85 

"I  hadn't  a  dollar  in  hard  cash." 

"Possible?" 

"It's  truth." 

"  You  bought  on  four  and  six  months  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  a  stock  of  goods  can't  be  turned  in  six  months. 
That's  admitted  on  all  hands." 

"  A  good  deal  can  be  turned  if  a  man  pushes  his  busi 
ness." 

"  Suppose  sixteen  thousand  out  of  twenty  are  turned — 
and  that's  a  liberal  calculation — how  are  the  four  thou 
sand  to  be  made  up  ?" 

"  You  must  borrow." 

"Borrow?" 

"Yes." 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  say  f  Borrow/  but  who's  to  lend  ?" 

"  Every  body  lends.  You  are  short  to-day,  and  your 
neighbour  is  over — he  lends  you.  To-morrow  he  is  short 
and  you  are  over,  and  you  lend  him.  Hundreds  of  thou 
sands  of  dollars  circulate  in  this  way." 

"  But  suppose  my  neighbour  isn't  over  when  I  happen 
to  be  short?"  said  Jenkins. 

"  Go  to  another  neighbour.  Somebody  will  be  over.  I 
have  never  found  any  difficulty." 

"  All  that's  too  temporary,  and  a  little  too  risky  for 
me.  The  borrowed  amount  must  go  on  increasing  until 
the  sum  becomes  unmanageable." 

"By  that  time,"  replied  Tompkins,  "your  credit  will 
be  so  well  established  that  you  can  get  an  accommodation 
in  bank.  Money  in  business,  you  know,  is  always  worth 
its  interest." 

"Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that." 

"  Borrowed  capital  is  therefore  just  as  good  as  if  it  were 
your  own,  for  all  business  purposes." 

Jenkins  assented  to  this,  although  he  didn't  exactly 
feel  that  it  was  true. 

"  Can  this  be  readily  done  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  confident  answer.    "  I  can  do  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't,"  said  Jenkins. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  but  that's  my  impression." 


80  ANY    THING     OVER    TO-DAY? 

"Nonsense;  you  cafl  do  it  as  well  as  any  one  else. 
You're  too  timid.  Nothing  venture,  nothing  gain.  Here 
you  are,  wearing  out  your  life  on  a  salary  of  a  thousand 
dollars,  when  you  might  just  as  Well  be  making  two  or 
three  thousand.  Use  your  abilities  for  your  own  benefit, 
not  for  the  good  of  others,  to  be  turned  out  to  die,  like 
an  old  horse,  when  you  get  old." 

A  few  interviews  like  this  with  Tompkins,  who  mani 
fested  a  warm  interest  for  his  old  friend,  finally  overcame 
all  objections  in  the  mind  of  Jenkins,  and  he  became  pos 
sessed  of  go-into-business-and-get-rieh  spirits.  Credit  was 
capital.  That  was  an  admitted  axiom.  And,  with  capi 
tal,  any  fool  could  make  money.  That  was  its  twin 
brother.  Jenkins  found  less  difficulty  in  obtaining  goods 
on  a  six  months'  credit  than  he  had  anticipated.  He  had 
a  quiet,  thoughtful  air  about  him,  and  his  old  employers 
gave  him  credit  for  being  a  man  of  the  most  honest  pur 
poses,  and  a  good  knowledge  of  business. 

During  the  first  six  months  Jenkins  was  able  to  dis 
count  many  of  his  own  notes.  This  made  his  credit 
A  No.  1  With  a  good  many  of  the  wholesale  men  from 
whom  he  bought,  and  they  congratulated  him  that  he  was 
getting  on  so  well ;  but,  at  the  expiration  of  six  months, 
when  about  six  or  seven  thousand  dollars  fell  due  in  the 
course  of  a  couple  of  weeks,  Jenkins  found  his  vessel 
passing  from  a  smooth  sea  into  troubled  waters. 

"  Any  thing  over  to-day,  Jenkins  ?"  or,  "  Will  you  have 
any  thing  over  to-morrow  ?"  had  been  sounded  in  his  ears 
half  a  dozen  times  daily  for  the  last  three  or  four  months  ; 
and  he  had  made  temporary  loans  of  small  sums  again 
and  again  to  his  neighbours.  Tompkins  had  been  a  liberal 
borrower.  He  was  on  the  street  daily.  It  was  now  Jen 
kins's  turn  to  ask  a  reciprocation  of  favours,  which  had, 
thus  far,  been  all  on  one  side. 

For  the  first  notes  which  fell  due,  to  the  amount  of  two 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars,  Jenkins  was  prepared  ; 
but  one  morning  he  found  himself  with  a  thousand  dollars 
to  pay,  and  nothing  in  bank.  The  young  merchant  felt 
sober.  This  large  amount  must  be  borrowed — but  could 
he  borrow  it  ?  That  was  the  doubtful  question.  More 
over,  he  felt  a  natural  repugnance  to  asking  favours  of 


ANY    THING    OVER    TO-DAY?  87 

the  kind,  and  his  heart  sank  in  him  at  the  very  thought 
of  doing  so ;  but  in  no  other  way  could  the  money  bo 
raised.  Temporary  loans  must  be  had  until  the  regular 
sales  brought  all  right  again.  Business  was  very  good, 
and  profits  fair.  The  prospect  ahead  was  encouraging. 
The  present  difficulty  surmounted,  and  all  would  be 
smooth  sailing  again. 

Naturally  enough,  Jenkins'  first  visit  was  to  his  friend. 

"Any  thing  over  to-day,  Tompkins  ?"  he  asked,  confi 
dently — for  here  he  fully  counted  on  important  aid.  The 
srnile  on  the  face  of  his  friend  instantly  faded. 

"  Not  a  cent,  Jenkins,  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I'm  short  two  thousand  myself,  and  fully  counted  on  you 
for  five  hundred." 

"I  must  raise  a  thousand  to-day,"  sai'd  Jenkins,  in  a 
husky  voice,  and  with  every  sign  of  disappointment  visi 
ble.  "I  fully  counted  on  you." 

"If  I  should  possibly  have  any  thing  over  at  two 
o'clock  you  will  be  most  welcome  to  it,"  said  Tompkins ; 
"  but  you  musn't  depend  on  me.  No  doubt  you  will  raise 
what  you  want  easily  enough.  Have  you  tried  Smith  ?" 

"Not  yet." 

"You've  accommodated  him?" 

"Yes,  twenty  times." 

"Then  go  to  him.     I  think  he's  flush  to-day." 

To  the  store  of  Smith,  Jenkins  proceeded ;  but  not  with 
the  easy  confidence  he  experienced  in  calling  upon  Tomp 
kins.  The  first  disappointment  had  dashed  his  feelings. 
Smith  was  a  spruce,  active  little  fellow,  who  advanced  to 
meet  Jenkins,  rubbing  his  hands  as  the  latter  came  in. 

"Ah,  Jenkins,  how  are  you — how  are  you?"  said  he, 
smiling  like  a  prima  donna.  "  I  was  just  about  calling  in 
to  see  you.  Any  thing  over  to-day  ?" 

Now  this  was  almost  too  much  for  poor  human  nature ; 
or,  at  least,  for  that  of  Mr.  Jenkins.  His  countenance, 
which  had  lighted  up,  fell ;  and  he  stammered  out — 

"  No,  no,  not  a  cent.  The  f-f-faet  is,  I'm  on  a  borrow 
ing  tramp  to-day,  and  have  come  to  ask  a  lift  from  you.' 

"  Indeed !  I'm  sorry  I  can't  help  you.  Why,  I 
thought  you  one  of  the  most  comfortable  men  in  the 
street." 


88  ANY    THING    OVER    TO-DAY? 

"  So  I  have  been.  Never  before  asked  for  a  dollar 
since  I  was  in  business.  But  several  heavy  payments  are 
crowded  into  this  and  next  week,  and  I  shall  be  short  for 
a  time.  It  won't  last  long,  however." 

"Wish  I  could  help  you,  Jenkins.  My  will  is  good," 
said  Smith ;  "  but  I  must  take  care  of  number  one  to-day. 
If  I  have  any  thing  over  to-morrow  you  shall  be  welcome 
to  it  with  all  my  heart.  Have  you  tried  Jones  ?" 

"No." 

"  Call  on  him.  He  had  in  three  or  four  customers 
from  the  West  yesterday,  and  I  think  they  left  him,  as 
they  say,  *  a  right  smart  chance'  of  money.  He's  bor 
rowed  from  you,  I  know." 

"Yes,  often." 

"  He'll  help  you.     Call  on  him." 

"  Any  thing  over  to-day?"  asked  Jenkins,  meekly,  of 
Jones,  whom  he  found  at  his  desk,  looking  particularly 
dismal. 

"No,  not  a  red  cent,"  sharply  returned  Jones,  frown 
ing  as  he  spoke,  and  glancing  involuntarily  toward  a  rack 
full  of  bank  notices.  He  had  been  meditating  for  half  an 
hour  before  Jenkins  came  in,  with  these  full  in  view; 
which  fact  will  account  for  his  unamiable  temper. 

Jenkins  turned  away  without  speaking,  and  went  back 
to  his  own  store.  He  had  never  had  just  such  feelings  as 
now  oppressed  him.  A  thousand  dollars  were  to  be  paid 
in  bank  before  three  o'clock,  and  he  had,  thus  far,  nothing 
toward  meeting  the  obligation.  Moreover,  three  thou 
sand  dollars  additional  fell  due  in  the  course  of  a  week, 
all  of  which  must  be  met,  or  he  would  fail  in  business. 
"  Fail !"  How  the  word,  as  it  formed  itself  in  his  thoughts, 
made  him  tremble  inwardly. 

"  Where  is  the  money  to  come  from  ?"  he  sighed,  as 
he  seated  himself  in  his  store.  For  ten  minutes  he 
remained  inactive ;  then,  suddenly  rising,  he  murmured — 

"  But  this  won't  do.  It  must  come  from  somewhere. 
I  will  try  Wilkins ;  he's  had  many  favours  of  me." 

To  Wilkins' s  store  Jenkins  repaired. 

"Any  thing  over  to-day?"  he  asked,  betraying  in  his 
voice  and  countenance  the  extremity  of  his  need. 


ANY    THING     OVER    TO-DAY?  89 

«  Well— I  don't— know/'  replied  Wilkins,  thoughtfully 
and  deliberately.  w  Let  me  see." 

And,  opening  his  fire-closet,  he  took  out  a  large  pocket- 
book,  and  commenced  examining  its  contents. 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?"  he  at  length  asked. 

"  Three  or  four  hundred  dollars." 

*  Is  it  to  go  in  bank  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  If  uncurrent  money  would  answer,  I  might  help  you 
some." 

u  How  near  is  it?" 

"Virginia." 

"  Two  per  cent,  discount." 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  can  have  it  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  if  it's 
any  accommodation." 

"  How  much  have  you  ?" 

"Three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"  Hold  on  to  it,  if  you  please,  for  an  hour  or  two  ;  and 
if  I  can't  make  up  what  I  want  I  will  accept  your  offer." 

"  Very  well ;  it  is  at  your  service.  I  would  do  better 
for  you,  if  I  could ;  hut  I  just  let  Tompkins  have  all  my 
current  funds." 

Half  a  dozen  more  applications  were  made  during  the 
next  hour  ;  and  all  poor  Jenkins  could  raise  was  two  hun 
dred  dollars,  which  must  be  returned  on  the  next  day  by 
twelve  o'clock.  This  sum,  with  the  three  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  uncurrent  money,  on  which  he  would  have  to 
lose  seven  dollars  in  discount,  left  him  short  four  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars. 

It  was  near  one  o'clock,  and  he  had  already  gone  the 
entire  rounds — so  far  as  those  who  had,  on  former  occa 
sions,  taken  the  liberty  to  borrow  of  him  were  concerned. 
As  a  money-hunter,  he  must  now  extend  his  walks  far 
ther.  He  must  go  to  those  who  had  never  come  to  him. 

There  was,  only  a  few  doors  from  Mr.  Jenkins,  a  retail 
dealer  in  the  same  line,  who  had  been  one  of  his  old  em 
ployer's  best  customers.  As  a  clerk,  Jenkins  had  fre 
quently  sold  him  goods,  and  waited  upon  him  for  the 
settlement  of  many  bills.  Peters — that  was  the  man's 
name — had  always  been  very  polite  to  Jenkins,  both 
before  and  since  his  entrance  into  business ;  and  Jenkins, 

8* 


90  ANY     THING    OVER    TO-DAY? 

in  consequence,  liked  Peters,  and  thought  him  very  much 
of  a  gentleman.  In  his  extremity — one  o'clock  having 
arrived,  and  there  being  yet  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
to  make  up — he  determined  to  try  Peters.  At  first 
thought  he  shrunk  from  doing  so ;  but  necessity  spurred 
him  to  the  act. 

As  Jenkins  placed  his  foot  within  the  store  of  Peters, 
his  heart  almost  failed  him ;  but  it  was  too  late  now  to 
turn  back,  so  he  advanced.  Peters  was  standing  at  a 
desk  in  the  back  part  of  the  store,  busily  engaged  in 
making  certain  calculations  on  a  small  slip  of  paper. 
Two  or  three  parcels  of  bank  notes  were  lying  before 
him,  and  near  these  were  several  bank  notices.  The  fact 
was,  Peters  was  himself  short ;  and  whenever  that  was 
the  case  he,  being  of  a  nervous  temperament,  was  never 
very  amiable.  He  had  just  discovered  a  little  error  in 
his  calculations,  which  showed  him  even  worse  off  than  he 
had  believed,  by  several  hundred  dollars,  when  a  falter 
ing  voice  near  him  pronounced  his  name.  He  turned 
quickly,  and,  as  his  sharp  eyes  and  knit  brows  were  en 
countered  by  Jenkins,  the  latter  seemed  almost  to  shrink 
into  himself  as  he  instinctively  took  off  his  hat. 

"Mr.  Jenkins,"  said  Peters,  not  relaxing  a  muscle. 

"Mr.  Peters,  how  are  you?" 

"So  so." 

Still  the  brows  were  unbent. 

"Any  thing  over  to-day?"  faltered  Jenkins. 

"No!" 

That  "No"  must  have  been  heard,  to  form  a  correct 
idea  of  the  emphatic  force  with  which  it  was  uttered. 
Poor  Jenkins  staggered  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  then 
hastily  retired. 

"  The  tenth  time  I've  had  to  say  that  in  the  last  hour," 
muttered  Peters,  savagely,  as  he  turned  to  his  desk. 

This  last  experience  in  borrowing  from  those  who  were 
"over,"  settled  the  matter  with  Jenkins.  It  would  have 
been  about  as  easy  to  have  forced  him  up  to  a  cannon's 
mouth  as  to  have  induced  him  to  make  another  applica 
tion  of  the  kind. 

"I'd  better  fail  and  be  done  with  it,"  said  he  to  him 
self,  as  he  went  back  with  hurried  strides  to  his  store ; 


ANY    THING    OVER    TO-DAY?  91 

but  the  idea  of  failing  became  more  and  more  terrible  to 
him  the  nearer  the  view  he  took. 

"I  must  prevent  it,  if  I  can."  This,  which  was 
thought  rather  than  uttered,  marked  the  reaction  in  his 
mind. 

"But  how,  how,  how?"  And  he  paced  the  floor  back 
ward  and  forward  half  a  dozen  times. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'll  do  that.  It's  a  straw,  but  I'll  catch  at 
it."  And,  so  saying,  he  started  forth  again.  This  time 
he  went  to  the  store  of  his  old  employers,  and  asked  an 
interview  with  the  senior  member  of  the  firm,  a  kind- 
hearted,  liberal  man. 

"Mr.  B ,"  said  Jenkins,    as    soon  as  they  were 

alone,    speaking    frankly   and   without    embarrassment, 
"  I've  committed  a  great  blunder." 

"In  what?" 

"In  going  into  business." 

"How  so?" 

"I  hadn't  a  dollar  of  capital." 

"I  thought  you  had  saved  something." 

"  No ;  I  went  into  business  on  the  sole  basis  of  a  cre 
dit." 

"  That  was  a  blunder." 

"  So  I  have  discovered ;  but,  unfortunately,  when  it  is 
too  late  to  retrieve  my  error." 

"  You  can't  pay  your  notes,  I  presume." 

"Not  out  of  my  current  business.     I  must  borrow." 

"A  poor  dependence,  Jenkins." 

"  So  I  have  found,  this  day,  to  my  grief  and  disap 
pointment.  I  have  been  trying  for  nearly  five  hours  to 
get  a  thousand  dollars,  but  nobody  has  any  thing  to  spare ; 
so  I  must  let  my  paper  lie  over,  and  make  a  failure  of  it." 

"  That  won't  do,  Jenkins,"  said  Mr.  B . 

"  I'd  rather  fail  twenty  times  than  keep  up  a  half  dead 
and  alive  business  existence  by  '  shinning  it.'  No,  no ; 
that  won't  suit  me,  no  how.  One  day's  experience  is 
enough.  How  people  stand  it  who  run  about  daily  from 
nine  o'clock  until  half-past  two,  to  get  money  to  meet 
their  notes,  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  It  would  kill  me  in 
a  month.  I'd  rather  fail  at  once,  and  be  done  with  it. 
Failure  must  come  at  last." 


92  ANY    THING    OVER    TO-DAY? 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  say  to  me  on  the  sub 
ject  ?"  asked  B . 

**  Simply,"  replied  Jenkins,  <£to  call  my  store  yours, 
and  me  your  clerk,  for  a  few  months,  until  the  business 
can  be  settled  up — you,  in  the  mean  time,  paying  the 
notes  that  fall  due,  in  order  to  keep  all  concerned  free 
from  the  loss  that  inevitably  follows  a  failure  in  business. 
There's  enough  to  make  you  perfectly  safe/' 

•"  You  are  certain  of  that?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I've  made  very  fair  profits,  and  lived  fru^ 

fally.  You  can  furnish  goods  from  your  own  store  to 
eep  up  the  stock  while  I'm  selling  off  what  is  now  on 
hand.  In  this  way  you  will  be  able  to  more  than  pay 
the  expenses  of  the  store,  and  bring  all  out  safely  in  the 
end." 

"  I  must  have  a  little  time  to  think  about  this,  Jen 
kins,"  said  B .  "  I  wish  you  had  mentioned  the  sub 
ject  a  week  or  two  ago,  so  that  I  could  have  looked  into 
the  affair  before  your  extremity  came.  You  want  a 
thousand  dollars  to-day?" 

"Yes." 

B sat  and  thought  for  some  three  or  four  minutes. 

"You  must  have  it,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  at  length. 
"  I  don't  like  these  failures  in  business.  Their  reaction 
upon  trade  is  bad.  I'll  give  you  a  check  for  a  thousand 
dollars  to-day.  Pay  your  notes,  and  then  go  to  work  and 
get  up  a  statement  of  your  exact  condition.  If  it  all 
looks  right,  perhaps — but  no  matter  what.  Do  as  I  wish, 
and  let  me  see  you  to-morrow." 

A  heavy  weight  was  suddenly  rolled  from  the  feelings 
of  Jenkins.  He  felt  as  light  as  a  feather  as  he  went  back 
to  his  store,  holding  tightly  in  his  hand  a  check  for  one 
thousand  dollars. 

On  the  next  day,  after  a  long  interview  with  Mr.  B , 

who  had  always  felt  a  friendly  interest  in  Jenkins,  it  was 

decided  to  continue  the  business,  B to  be  a  silent 

partner,  and  furnish  a  certain  amount  of  capital.  That 
settled  the  fortunes  of  the  young  man.  He  is  still  in 
business,  and  doing  well.  While  Tompkins  and  dozens 
of  others  like  him  are  on  the  street,  daily,  from  nine  till 
half-past  two,  as  eager  money-hunters,  you  will  find  him 


ANY    THING     OVER    TO-DAY?  93 

at  liis  counter,  attending  to  customers,  or  at  the  auctions, 
ready  to  secure  any  good  bargains  that  may  happen  to 
offer.  And  you  will,  moreover,  find  him  a  prosperous 
merchant,  when  Tompkins,  and  eight  out  of  ten  of  such 
able  "financiers,"  are  driven  under,  and  the  ripples  on 
the  surface  of  trade  that  marked  the  place  of  their  dis 
aster  are  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

To  start  in  business  with  only  credit  for  a  capital,  «?  to 
lean  upon  a  broken  reed.  Thousands  have  learned  this 
to  their  sorrow. 


THROWING  DUST  IN  PEOPLE'S  EYES. 


THERE  are  many  ways  in  which  this  is  done — we  mean 
throwing  dust  in  people's  eyes.  In  all  the  varied  walks 
of  life,  from  the  leaders  of  political  parties  down  to  the 
scavengers  who  clean  the  streets,  a  certain  set  of  indivi 
duals  find  especial  delight  in  the  work.  In  most  cases,  it 
is  the  hand  of  self-interest  that  throws  the  dust,  and  per 
sons  are  blinded  in  order  that  they  may  not  see  the  false 
moves  about  to  be  made  against  them. 

It  generally  happens  that  your  dust-throwing  fraternity 
are,  in  the  end,  pretty  well  understood;  and  those  who 
have  once  been  blinded,  manage  to  keep  at  least  one  eye 
clear,  and  fixed  intently  upon  them.  In  a  word,  throwing 
dust  may  do  very  well  for  a  time,  but,  like  all  evil  work, 
it  has  its  day  and  its  hour.  In  the  end,  more  is  lost  than 
gained. 

"  Aping  their  betters,"  but  without  the  motive  of  self- 
interest,  and  in  the  mere  wantonness  of  ill-nature,  your 
street-scavengers  manage  to  do  a  pretty  large  share  in 
the  work  of  throwing  dust  in  people's  eyes,  and  their  mode 
of  doing  it  is  of  the  most  literal  character.  If  the  day 
happens  to  be  windy,  and  you  see  one  of  this  industrious 
fraternity  approaching  a  box,  barrel,  or  basket  of  dry 
coal-ashes,  take  our  advice  and  cross  the  street,  for  the 
moment  eschewing  all  dainty  regard  for  flag-stones.  In 
all  cases  of  this  kind,  we  are  clear  in  the  opinion  that  dis 
cretion  is  the  better  part  of  valour,  and  practise  on  the 
rule  invariably.  Even  a  soiled  boot  is  to  be  preferred  to 
dust  in  the  eyes. 

Patrick  Mooney — he  was,  probably,  third  cousin  to 
94 


THROWING    DUST    IN    PEOPLE'S    EYES.         97 

Peter  Mulrooney,  who  did,  or,  rather,  who  did  not  sell 
Mr.  Urban's  strawberry  cow ;  though  Patrick  was  an  ill- 
natured  boy,  compared  with  Peter — Patrick  Mooney  had 
been  six  months  in  "  Amereky,"  and  in  that  short  space 
of  time  had  made  the  discovery  that  we  are  all  lords  here, 
and  that  he  was  as  good  as  anybody,  and  a  little  better, 
too,  if  the  truth  were  known.  So  Patrick,  in  his  inde 
pendence,  not  only  stuck  out  his  elbows  so  far  that  they 
sadly  annoyed  other  people's  ribs,  but  even  ventured, 
occasionally,  to  give  said  elbows  a  sort  of  an  outward 
flying  motion,  by  which  the  ribs  aforesaid  were  rather 
severely  bruised.  Of  course,  Patrick  had  to  take  the 
consequences ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  grow  much  wiser 
for  all  that.  One  or  two  good  places  were  lost  because  the 
independent  citizen  asserted,  as  was  thought,  rather  too 
broadly  his  independence,  and  he  finally  came  down  to 
the  necessity  of  accepting  the  office  of  City  Collector — 
of  ashes. 

Patrick  was  rather  humiliated  by  this  fall  of  a  man 
who  was  " as  good  as  anybody;"  but  he  soon  saw  that 
he  had  it  in  his  power  to  be  revenged  on  society  for  the 
wrong  he  sustained  at  its  hands ;  and  revenge  in  just  the 
way  that  suited  his  direct  aims  and  purposes.  He  could 
throw  dust  in  people's  eyes  to  his  heart's  content,  and 
well  did  he  do  his  work. 

But  emptying  ash-pans  and  ash-barrels  did  not  yield  a 
very  handsome  income  for  the  somewhat  ambitious  Mooney, 
and  he  kept  on  the  look-out  for  some  more  desirable  occu 
pation. 

"Pathrick,"  said  Mrs.  Mooney,  one  evening,  to  her 
husband,  on  his  return  home  from  his  day's  work — "  Ise 
got  news  for  yees.  Andy  Muckleroy's  dead." 

"  Andy  Muckleroy,  is  it,  indade !  Faix !  and  it's  an 
ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  He's  lost  a  grand 
place." 

"And  ye  must  thry  and  get  it,  Pathrick." 

"  Dad  !  and  I'm  just  the  boy  to  try.  I'll  be  made  up 
if  I  can  get  the  siteation." 

"  Ye  doesn't  know  Musther  Blakely?" 

"  No ;  but  I've  got  friends.  Dad  !  but  I'll  go  about  it 
bright  and  early  the  morrow  mornin'." 

9 


98         THROWING    DUST    IN    PEOPLE'S    EYES. 

So,  early  on  the  next  day,  Patrick  ran  around  among  a 
few  friends,  and  got  them  to  sign  a  recommendation,  pre 
paratory  to  his  application  for  the  place  made  vacant  by 
the  death  of  Mr.  Blakely's  porter.  With  this  he  called 
at  the  merchant's  store  about  nine  o'clock,  but  was  not  so 
fortunate  as  to  find  him  in.  He  stated  his  object,  how 
ever,  to  the  principal  clerk,  who  gave  his  some  encourage 
ment. 

"  Leave  your  paper  with  me,"  said  that  individual,  "and 
call  again  about  three  o'clock.  You  will  be  certain  to 
find  Mr.  Blakely  here  at  that  time." 

So  Patrick  Mooney  retired,  and  went  about  his  work 
of  collecting  ashes.  He  was  unusually  elated  at  the 
prospect  of  a  speedy  elevation  above  his  present  grade  in 
society,  which,  it  must  be  owned,  had  never  been  very 
flattering  to  his  vanity ;  and  this  state  of  mental  excite 
ment  caused  him  to  throw  his  ashes  about  with  an  emphasis 
that  kept  the  vicinity  in  which  he  happened  to  be  in  a 
perfect  cloud  of  dust.  Wo  to  the  pedestrian,  male  or 
female,  who  happened  to  be  to  the  leeward  of  Patrick, 
when  he  discharged  the  contents  of  an  ash-pan  into  his 
cart ;  and,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  he  managed  to  make 
the  contents  of  each  box  or  pan  do,  to  its  full  extent,  the 
annoying  duty  he  desired  it  to  perform.  Of  course, 
Patrick  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  blinded  eyes  and 
bedusted  garments  that  followed  in  his  wake,  but  he  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  whole  performance,  and  enjoyed  it 
amazingly. 

While  thus  employed,  Mooney  observed  a  well-dressed 
man  approaching,  and  resolved  to  give  his  glossy  black 
coat  and  shining  hat  a  fine  powdering.  So  he  poised  a 
tub  of  ashes  in  his  hands  and  waited  until  he  had  him  just 
in  the  wind,  then  dexterously  throwing  the  contents  into 
the  air,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  large  portion 
blown  directly  into  the  face  and  over  the  person  of  the 
handsomely-dressed  pedestrian.  The  man  stopped,  and 
after  rubbing  his  eyes  clear,  looked  steadily  at  the  Irish 
man,  who  could  not  keep  back  the  chuckle  that  was  in 
his  heart.  Angry  words  were  on  his  lips;  but  he  re 
strained  them  and  passed  on. 


THROWING    DUST    IN    PEOPLE   S    EYES.         99 

Punctually  at  three  o'clock,  Mooney  was  at  the  store 
of  Mr.  Blakely. 

"Is  the  jontilman  in?"  he  asked  of  the  clerk  he  had 
seen  in  the  morning. 

"You  will  find  him  back  in  his  office,"  was  answered. 

"Has  he  seen  my  racamindation ?"  inquired  Mooney. 

"  He  has." 

"He  hasn't  ony  one  engaged  yet  ?" 

"No." 

"  Do  ye  think  he  will  take  me  ?" 

"  We  want  a  man  immediately,  and  I  think  your  chance 
is  good.  But,  step  back  and  see  Mr.  Blakely  yourself. " 

With  hat  in  hand,  and  a  face  all  meekness,  Patrick 
Mooney  presented  himself  to  the  merchant.  But  what  was 
his  surprise  to  find  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  man  in 
whose  face  and  over  whose  person  he  had  but  a  few  hours 
before  scattered  ashes  in  the  most  wanton  and  outrageous 
manner.  The  recognition  was  mutual. 

"Well,  sir?"  Mr.  Blakely  spoke  in  a  quick,  indignant 
voice. 

"  Me  name  is  Pathrick  Mooney,  y'r  honour,"  stammered 
the  Irishman  in  much  confusion.  "  Yee's  wants  a — a — 
porther,  sir,  in  the  place  of  Andy  Muckleroy.  I  left  my 
racamindation  the  morning." 

"  I  don't  want  you,  sir,"  returned  the  merchant,  con 
trolling  himself,  and  partly  turning  from  the  applicant  as 
he  spoke.  "  A  man  that  don't  know  his  place  as  a  sca 
venger,  will  not  be  likely  to  know  it  as  a  porter." 

The  Irishman  retired  something  wiser  than  when  he 
came  in.  It  was,  to  him,  the  turning  of  a  new  leaf  in  the 
book  of  human  life.  He  is  still  a  scavenger,  but  has  had 
quite  enough  of  throwing  dust  in  people's  eyes,  and 
rarely  indulges  in  the  sport. 


THE  PUNCTUAL  IAN. 


MR.  JENKINS  was  a  punctual  man — a  very  punctual  man. 
He  was  not  only  up  to  time  in  every  thing,  but  usually 
a  little  in  advance  of  time.  Of  such  a  thing  as  being  too 
late  for  an  engagement,  no  one  ever  knew  him  to  be 
guilty.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Jenkins  had  very  little 
regard  to  the  passage  of  time.  Ask  Mr.  Jenkins  what 
o'clock  it  was  at  any  period  of  the  day,  and  his  answer, 
promptly  given,  and  without  consulting  his  gold  lever, 
would  rarely  vary  ten  minutes  from  the  real  time.  Ask 
Mrs.  Jenkins  the  same  question,  and  if  she  came  within 
two  hours  of  it,  the  fact  would  be  remarkable. 

"Now,  my  dear,  do  hurry!  We  shall  be  too  late.'* 
Never  did  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  go  upon  a  journey,  or 
attend  church  or  party,  without  a  dozen  repetitions  of  this 
admonition,  mildly  urged  in  the  beginning,  but,  in  a 
nervous,  impatient  tone  of  voice,  ere  the  lingering  spouse 
deemed  her  person  all  in  trim  for  the  contemplated  move 
ment.  In  most  cases,  even  with  all  the  punctual  husband's 
efforts  to  bring  his  wife  up  to  time,  but  little  advance  was 
ever  gained.  Service  had  usually  commenced  ere  they 
reached  the  church  on  Sunday,  notwithstanding  Mr. 
Jenkins's  nervous  horror  of  disturbing  by  an  untimely 
entrance  a  worshipping  assembly,  and  notwithstanding 
his  weekly  repetition  of — 

"Now  do,  my  dear,  try  and  be  ready  in  time  to-day." 
They  were  usually  among  the  last  at  a  tea-party ;  and 
upon  them  rested  the  guilt  of  disturbing   the   temper, 
wearing  out  the  patience,  and  spoiling  the  oysters  of  the 
fair  hostess.     More  than  once  had  the  prophecy — 
100 


THE    PUNCTUAL    MAN.  103 

"We'll  be  too  late  for  the  steamboat,"  met  a  literal 
fulfilment. 

One  would  naturally  tbink  that  frequent  experiences 
of  this  kind  must  work  a  change.  Far  from  it.  It  was 
just  as  natural  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  take  no  note  of  time, 
as  for  her  husband  to  be  noting  it  all  the  while. 

Last  summer  they  decided  on  a  trip  to  Boston,  and 
after  all  needful  preparation  the  day  arrived  that  was  to 
witness  their  departure. 

"Come,  dear!"  said  Mr.  Jenkins, just  as  day  began  to 
dawn.  "It's  time  to  get  up.  We  shall  be  late." 

"Late  !  It's  only  a  little  past  four  o'clock,  and  the  boat 
doesn't  leave  until  nine." 

And  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who  had  been  aroused  from  a  plea 
sant  slumber,  composed  herself  for  another  nap. 

"Come!  come!     We  shall  be  late." 

Mr.  Jenkins  spoke  now  in  a  more  earnest  voice,  for  the 
first  rays  of  the  uprisen  sun  were  streaming  in  at  the 
chamber  window. 

"Plenty  of  time,"  returned  Mrs.  Jenkins,  showing  no 
very  strong  inclination  to  rise. 

Mr.  Jenkins,  who  was  up  and  partly  dressed,  now  be 
thought  himself  of  consulting  his  watch,  when  to  his 
surprise  he  found  that  it  was  full  an  hour  later  than  he 
had  supposed  it  to  be. 

"Come!  come!"  said  he,  impatiently.  "It  is  nearly 
half-past  six  o'clock." 

"  Oh  no,"  returned  his  wife. 

"It  is  then,  and  no  mistake.  See  for  yourself!"  and 
he  held  the  gold  lever  before  her  eyes. 

"I  declare !  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  so  late." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  sprung  from  the  bed  and  commenced 
dressing  herself  hurriedly.  Twice  the  bell  rang  for 
breakfast  before  she  was  ready  to  obey  the  summons. 
But  at  length  she  took  her  way  to  the  dining-room,  and, 
much  to  her  husband's  relief,  she  left  the  table  in  full  time 
to  finish  all  needful  preparations  for  the  journey. 

The  breakfast  scene,  which  finally  ended  so  much  to 
Mr.  Jenkins's  satisfaction,  is  worthy  of  a  passing  note. 

Mr.  Jenkins  received  his  cup  of  coffee  from  the  hand 
of  his  wife  with  a  nervous  jerk,  and  in  bringing  it  down 


104  THE    PUNCTUAL    MAN. 

upon  the  table  beside  him,  managed  to  spill  a  third  of  it 
upon  the  white  cloth.  Then,  in  putting  his  cup  too 
eagerly  to  his  lips,  he  scalded  his  mouth. 

"  Here  !  give  me  some  cream.  This  coffee  is  as  hot  as 
fire  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  handed  back  his  cup. 

More  cream  was  supplied,  and  then  the  cup  of  coffee 
was  emptied  at  a  single  draught. 

The  work  of  breaking  an  egg  and  pouring  out  its  con 
tents  came  next  in  order.  Usually,  Mr.  Jenkins  could 
perform  this  delicate  operation  with  considerable  skill. 
On  the  present  occasion  he  spilled  a  portion  over  the  side 
of  his  egg-cup,  soiled  his  fingers,  and  made  u  such  a  time 
of  it,"  that  he  pushed  egg  and  cup  from  him  with  an  im 
patient — 

"  What  a  mess  I'm  making  of  it !" 

Mr.  Jenkins  next  attacked  the  toast,  and  bolted  a  couple 
of  slices  in  a  twinkling.  Having  done  which,  he  drew  forth 
his  watch,  to  consult  it,  and  see  how  the  time  was  passing. 

"  We  must  hurry,"  said  he,  involuntarily.  "  Time  goes 
quickly." 

"Well,  I  declare,"  returned  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "you're  the 
most  nervous,  impatient  man,  I  ever  saw !  Now  do  eat 
your  breakfast.  There  is  plenty  of  time." 

But  Mr.  Jenkins  arose  and  walked  the  floor  of  the 
dining-room  until  his  wife  had  concluded  her  morning 
meal. 

At  half-past  eight  the  carriage  was  to  be  at  the  door. 
The  trunks  were  strapped,  and  Mr.  Jenkins  ready  for  the 
removal  some  time  before  that  period ;  and  to  Mrs.  Jen 
kins's  credit  be  it  spoken,  she  was  ready  to  the  minute. 

"  That  man  ought  to  be  here,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  as 
the  hand  of  his  gold  lever  approached  the  figure  four.  "  I 
don't  like  this  putting  off  things  until  the  last  moment." 

And  he  went  to  the  door  and  stood  for  some  time  look 
ing  down  the  street.  But  no  carriage  appeared  in  sight. 
Then  he  returned  into  the  house,  and  walked  the  parlour 
floor  for  a  minute  and  a  half,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he 
drew  forth  his  wratch  for  another  consultation.  Five 
minutes  more,  and  it  would  be  half-past  eight  o'clock. 

"If  he  should  disappoint  me!"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  ner 
vously. 


THE    PUNCTUAL    MAN.  105 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  here,"  returned  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with  much 
composure.  Don't  be  uneasy." 

"  But  I  am  uneasy.  I'm  almost  certain  the  man  will 
disappoint  us.  I  wish  I'd  taken  his  number." 

"  What  good  would  that  have  done  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jen 
kins,  calmly. 

"  I'd  have  him  before  the  Mayor." 

Mr.  Jenkins  went  to  the  door  again,  and  gazed  anxiously 
down  the  street.  No  carriage  was  in  sight. 

"  Half-past  eight !"  he  ejaculated,  coming  into  the 
parlour  where  Mrs.  Jenkins  sat  all  ready  for  departure. 
"What  is  to  be  done?" 

"  Don't  feel  uneasy.  I  am  certain  he  will  be  here," 
said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "He  can  drive  down  easily  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  So  there  is  plenty  of  time  to  spare." 

"  No,  there  isn't  plenty  of  time  to  spare.  Besides,  I 
told  him  to  be  here  by  half-past  eight,  and  not  a  minute 
later." 

Five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  went  stealing  by,  and  yet  no 
carriage  appeared.  The  reader  may  imagine  the  state 
of  mind  into  which  Mr.  Jenkins  was  thrown. 

But  a  quarter  of  an  hour  remained  ere  the  steamboat 
would  leave  the  wharf.  Fortunately  for  Mr.  Jenkins,  a 
porter  came  by  just  at  this  juncture,  with  his  empty  wheel 
barrow. 

"Here,  good  fellow!"  cried  Jenkins;  "are  you  en 
gaged  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  was  answered. 

"  Then  come  in  quickly  and  get  my  trunks.  The  car 
riage  has  disappointed  me,  and  I  must  be  at  the  New 
York  boat  by  nine  o'clock." 

The  porter  obeyed  with  alacrity.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
was  on  his  way,  with  the  trunks,  toward  Walnut  street 
wharf,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins,  the  former  with  carpet 
bag  in  hand,  hurrying  after  him.  But  the  steps  of  Mrs. 
Jenkins  were  far  too  deliberate  for  those  of  her  excited 
husband. 

"Indeed,  you  must  move  quicker,  or  we  will  be  too 
late,"  he  said,  at  every  half  square. 

Great  was  the  speed  at  which  they  swept  along  the 
street. 


106  THE    PUNCTUAL    MAN. 

"Just  four  minutes  left,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  as  they 
passed  the  exchange. 

At  length  they  reached  the  foot  of  Walnut  street. 

"Has  the  boat  gone  yet?"  breathlessly  inquired  Jen 
kins  of  a  coloured  porter. 

"  Oh  no,"  was  replied,  with  a  broad  smile  on  Ethiop's 
face. 

At  this  moment  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Jenkins  rested  upon 
the  upper  works  of  the  steamboat,  which  were  in  motion. 

"She's  off!"  he  ejaculated.  "Quick!  quick!"  And 
he  sprang  several  paces  in  advance  of  his  wife,  running 
down  the  avenue  to  the  dock  from  which  the  boat  had 
moved. 

"  Stop  !  Stop  a  moment !"  he  cried  to  the  captain,  who 
was  on  the  upper  deck.  "  Stop !  Hold  up !  Just  a 
moment !" 

But  the  boat  was  loosened  from  her  fastenings,  and 
quietly  moved  down  the  stream.  On  her  way  she  kept, 
as  steadily  as  if  no  Mr.  Jenkins  stood  calling  out  and 
gesticulating  on  the  shore. 

"  Too  bad !  too  bad !  I'll  have  that  fellow  fined  for 
disappointing  me." 

"It  is  too  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  panting  from  over 
exertion,  "to  be  disappointed  after  all  this !" 

"  The  boat's  coming  back  again,"  said  a  man  who  stood 
near. 

"  Coming  back  again  !" 

"  Oh  yes.  She's  merely  heading  round.  It  isn't  time 
for  her  to  start  by  an  hour." 

"But  it's  nine  o'clock,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  drawing  out 
his  watch. 

"  Oh  no,  sir;  only  eight." 

"Eight!" 

Mr.  Jenkins  stood  with  a  bewildered  air  for  a  moment. 
Then  light  broke  in  upon  his  mind. 

"  Only  eight !"  he  repeated.  "  Right !  Sure  enough  ! 
Well,  that  is  a  good  one  !" 

"Only  eight!"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins.  "That's  strange! 
Does  your  watch  say  nine  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  now  I  remember,  it  is  iust  an  hour  too 
fast." 


THE    PUNCTUAL    MAN.  107 

"  Why,  Mr.  Jenkins  !  How  comes  this  ?" 
But  Mr.  Jenkins,  who  was  caught  in  his  own  trap,  did 
not  venture  to  explain  that  he  had,  on  the  night  before, 
set  his  watch  an  hour  ahead,  in  order  to  cheat  his  wife 
into  being  ready  in  time  for  the  boat !  Yet,  this  was 
really  so.  Mrs.  Jenkins,  however,  who  was  a  pretty 
shrewd  woman,  guessed  at  the  real  truth  as  they  sat,  a 
few  minutes  afterward,  in  the  cabin  of  the  John  Stevens, 
the  only  passengers  for  New  York  who  had  yet  made 
their  appearance,  and  she  charged  the  fact  upon  him  so 
directly  that  equivocation  was  of  no  avail.  He  has  not 
heard  the  last  of  the  affair  yet. 

For  all  this  and  other  little  experiences  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins,  no  particular  change  has  taken 
place  on  either  side.  Mr.  Jenkins  remains  the  same  ner 
vously-punctual  man,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  same  even- 
tempered,  immovably-unpunctual  woman.  And  so  it  is 
likely  to  be  with  them  to  the  end.  So  little  do  men  and 
women  profit  by  the  experiences  of  life  when  they  react 
upon  constitutional  weaknesses,  defects,  and  peculiarities 
of  character,  confirmed  by  long  habit. 


SHORT  OF  FUEL. 


IT  was  the  first  week  in  March — a  raw,  blustering  day. 
The  month  had  come  in  like  a  lion,  giving  the  pleasing 
hope  that  it  would  go  out  like  a  lamb.  I  had  finished  my 
breakfast,  and,  having  donned  my  overcoat,  was  drawing 
on  my  gloves,  when  my  wife  called  to  me  from  the  dining- 
room,  where  she  still  sat  at  the  table,  in  an  earnest  voice — 

"  Oh,  I  declare,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  coal  was 
all  gone.     We  must  have  more  to-day." 
108 


SHORT    OF    FUEL.  109 

"  Coal  gone  !"  I  exclaimed.     "  Impossible  !" 

"  Yes.  Biddy  says  there  isn't  enough  to  last  until 
aight." 

"  She  must  be  mistaken,"  said  I  in  a  positive  voice. 
"  I  laid  in  twenty  tons  in  October." 

"  'Deed,  an'  there  isn't  the  full  of  a  coal-scuttle  in  the 
cellar,"  spoke  out  Biddy,  who  was  in  the  dining-room. 
"I  put  the  last  in  the  furnace  this  morning." 

"  The  furnace  coal  gone  also  ?" 

"Yis,  indeed,"  replied  Biddy,  who,  the  huzzy!  it  was 
evident  from  her  tone  of  voice,  enjoyed  my  astonishment 
and  discomfiture  ;  "  I've  been  using  the  range  coal  in  the 
furnace  these  two  weeks." 

"  Well,  that  beats  all,"  said  I,  drawing  off  my  gloves 
and  approaching  the  dining-room  door;  "twenty  tons  of 
coal  in  five  months  !  four  tons  a  month  !  What  have  you 
done  with  it,  Biddy  ?  You  never  could  have  burned  it  all, 
if  you  had  tried." 

"  I  didn't  ate  it  nor  stale  it !"  replied  Biddy,  in  a  huff. 

"  But  what  has  been  done  with  it  ?  I  can't  make  that 
out.  Four  tons  of  coal  a  month,  and  only  three  fires. 
There  must  be  some  mistake.  It  can't  possibly  be  all 
gone."  ' 

"  Yees  can  go  and  see  for  yerself,"  said  Biddy,  in  her 
independent  way. 

I  shook  my  head  and  looked  as  grave  as  an  alderman 
with  a  case  before  him.  A  dozen  times  through  the  win 
ter  I  had  found  occasion  to  remonstrate  with  Biddy 
touching  her  manner  of  using  coal.  Both  the  range  and 
furnace  had  been  newly  put  up  in  the  fall,  and  careful 
directions  left  for  their  proper  use. 

"  You  see,  Biddy,"  said  I  to  her,  after  the  range  was 
set  and  a  fire  made  in  it  by  one  of  the  workmen,  "  you 
must  never  let  the  coal  come  above  this  fire-brick.  If 
you  do,  it  will  neither  burn  so  freely  nor  give  such  a  good 
heat." 

"  Oh  yis,  sir ;  I  understands  all  about  it.  I'm  used  to 
ranges,"  replied  Biddy,  unhesitatingly. 

"Moreover,"  I  continued,  as  though  I  had  not  heard 
her,  "  if  you  build  the  fire  up  to  the  top  plate,  you  will 
crack  that  and  the  front  piece  with  the  intense  heat." 

10 


SHORT    OP    FUEL. 

"And  do  yees  think  I  would  destroy  your  things  in 
that  way  ?"  said  the  girl,  half  indignantly. 

"No,  not  wilfully,  Biddy,"  I  soothingly  answered,  "but 
ignorantly." 

"Troth,  and  I'm  not  such  an  ignoramus  as  yees  take 
me  for.  As  if  I'd  never  seed  a  range  in  all  my  born  days  ! 
D'ye  think  there  are  no  ranges  in  the  ould  counthry?" 

"  No  doubt  they're  as  plenty  there  as  blackberries, 
Biddy,"  said  I,  beginning  to  be  a  little  out  of  patience ; 
"  but  that  doesn't  signify  here  nor  there.  I  want  you  to 
regulate  this  one  according  to  instructions — to  follow  your 
orders,  if  you  break  your  owner." 

"  Troth  and  I  can  soon  break  it  for  yees,  if  that's  what 
ye  want." 

"  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  of  that,  Biddy,"  I  retorted  ; 
"  for  you're  good  at  that  work.  But  I'm  particular  in 
wanting  this  range  preserved  from  all  such  catastrophies. 
I  wish  it  taken  good  care  of ;  so,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
follow  my  directions  in  using  it ;  and,  if  any  damage  is 
done,  I  will  be  responsible." 

"  If  yees  wants  to  be  cook,"  said  Biddy,  tartly,  "  I'll 
act  as  scullion." 

Finding  that  I  was  getting  into  a  humour  that  threat 
ened  to  lead  me  into  words  and  acts  not  over  dignified  for 
the  head  of  a  family,  I  retired  from  the  kitchen  without 
another  word.  I  had  invaded  my  wife's  province,  and 
the  sharp-witted  Irish  girl  only  let  me  see  the  instant 
failure  of  respect  that  took  place  in  her  mind. 

On  the  morning  after  this  interview,  I  took  occasion  to 
look  into  the  kitchen  on  some  pretence.  It  was  as  I  had 
expected.  The  fire-chamber  of  the  range  was  so  full  of 
coal  that  portions  of  the  ignited  fuel  projected  in  the 
shape  of  a  cone  through  the  hole  in  the  top  plate,  which 
was  red  with  heat.  I  was  about  entering  a  strongly 
uttered  protest  against  such  a  proceeding,  when  a  remem 
brance  of  the  girl's  intractable  temper,  as  displayed  on 
the  day  before,  warned  me  to  desist. 

"Biddy  will  destroy  that  range  in  a  month,"  said  I  to 
my  wife,  as  I  went  back  to  the  room  where  she  was  sitting. 

"In  what  way?"  was  asked. 

"She  keeps  the  fire-chamber  full  of  coals  to  the  top 


SHORT    OF    FUEL.  Ill 

plate,  when  I  expressly  told  her  that  it  must  not  be  made 
above  the  fire-brick.  By  doing  so,  she  not  only  checks 
the  draft,  but  injures  the  range,  and  destroys  a  third  more 
fuel." 

"I  told  her  of  that  yesterday.  But  she  says  the  oven 
won't  bake  unless  the  chamber  is  full  of  coal." 

"It's  not  true.  A  free  fire  will  give  more  heat  than  a 
smothered  one,  as  anybody  of  common  sense  may  know. 
I  wish  you  would  insist  upon  her  managing  it  right." 

"I'll  do  all  in  my  power;  but  I  can't  be  always  in  the 
kitchen,"  replied  my  wife,  a  little  coldly. 

I  said  no  more ;  for  I  felt  that,  though  master  in  my 
own  house,  there  was  a  limit  to  my  authority.  But  I 
could  not  always  tamely  submit  to  the  destruction  and 
disorder  that  ranged  in  the  lower  departments  of  the 
household.  Occasionally,  I  would  suggest  to  Biddy  that 
she  was  not  managing  the  range  as  I  had  directed ;  while 
at  other  times  I  would  jog  her  memory  more  roughly. 
All,  however,  availed  not.  The  coal  was  still  piled  to 
the  top  plate,  that,  in  a  few  weeks,  was  cracked  in  two 
pieces  from  the  intense  heat  to  which  it  was  constantly 
subjected. 

As  for  the  furnace,  or  heater,  of  which  Biddy  also  had 
the  care,  it  was  managed  about  as  well  as  the  range. 
Whenever  I  had  occasion  to  go  into  the  cellar,  I  found 
the  coal  in  the  fire-cylinder  piled  far  above  the  brick 
lining  and  almost  rolling  from  the  feeder,  while  the  sheet- 
iron  above  the  fire-brick  was  red  for  the  space  of  several 
inches.  Of  course  this  consumed  more  coal,  injured  the 
furnace,  vitiated  the  air,  and  diminished  the  amount  of 
heat  usually  obtained  from  a  given  amount  of  fuel. 

Two  or  three  times  I  took  Biddy  into  the  cellar  and 
explained  all  this  to  her.  But  I  might  as  well  have  talked 
to  the  wind.  She  generally  resented  the  interference  on 
my  part  as  a  trespass  upon  her  particular  province,  and 
a  charge  of  ignorance ;  neither  of  which  she  could  or 
would  tolerate  for  a  moment. 

Thus  it  had  been  during  the  winter.  I  therefore  knew 
Biddy's  character  pretty  well,  and  quickly  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  from  her  no  satisfaction,  touching  the  de 
parted  twenty  tons  of  coal,  was  to  be  obtained.  As  to 


112  SHOBT    OF    FUEL. 

her  invitation  to  dive  down  into  the  cellar  and  see  for 
myself,  I  felt  in  no  humour  to  accept  of  it. 

"Don't  neglect,"  said  my  wife,  as  I  still  stood  in  the 
dining-room  door,  "to  send  us  some  coal  immediately. 
Biddy  says  there  isn't  enough  to  last  until  dinner-time." 

"Indade  and  there  a'n't,"  spoke  up  Biddy,  in  a  kind 
of  triumphant  voice;  "I  scraped  up  the  last  this  very 
mornin'.  There's  not  the  full  of  a  coal-scuttle  in  the 
whole  cellar." 

"You're  sure  of  that,"  said  I. 

"  'Dade,  and  I  am  jist.  Sure,  yees  can  go  and  see  for 
yerself." 

As  talking  would  not  put  a  ton  of  coal  in  the  cellar, 
I  broke  short  the  interview,  and,  turning  away,  left  the 
house. 

"Twenty  tons  of  coal  in  five  months,"  said  I  to  myself, 
musing,  as  I  walked  along.  "It's  incredible!  How  she 
could  have  burnt  up  that  quantity,  even  with  the  end  of 
waste  in  her  mind,  passes  my  comprehension.  These 
Irish  girls  do  beat  the  Old  Harry  himself  in  destruction. 
Half  starved,  and  half  frozen  over  their  turf-fires  at  home, 
they  come  over  here,  and  finding  things  in  plenty  around 
them,  go  to  work  with  the  purpose,  it  seems,  of  ascertain 
ing  how  much  they  can  waste  and  destroy;  and,  goodness 
knows !  they  are  successful  experimenters,  as  every  house 
keeper  feels  to  his  sorrow." 

But  grumbling  was  of  no  avail.  More  coal  must  be 
purchased.  So,  on  my  way  down  town,  I  called  at  a 
coal-office  and  ordered  three  more  tons  to  be  sent  home. 

"Be  particular  in  sending  it  this  morning,"  said  I. 
"We  are  entirely  out  of  fuel." 

The  dealer  promised  that  it  should  be  done,  and  I  went 
on  my  way.  At  two  o'clock  I  returned  home  to  dinner. 
It  was  one  of  those  raw,  cold,  wet,  shivering  days  peculiar 
to  March ;  and  by  the  time  I  had  reached  my  house,  I 
was  about  as  uncomfortable  as  I  could  wish  to  be.  The 
melted  snow  on  the  pavement  had  penetrated  my  boots, 
completely  saturating  my  stockings.  I  was  conscious, 
from  my  sensations,  that  I  was  taking  cold,  and  felt 
anxious  to  get  into  a  warm  room,  and  change  my  stock 
ings,  drawers,  and  pantaloons  for  others  that  were  dry. 


SHORT    OF    FUEL.  113 

As  I  opened  my  door,  I  was  not  affected,  as  usual,  with 
the  warmth  of  a  genial  atmosphere.  I  walked  into  the 
parlours,  and  putting  my  hand  against  the  register,  dis 
covered  that  not  a  particle  of  heat  was  entering  the  room. 
I  perceived  that  the  dining-room  door  was  closed,  so  I 
returned  to  the  passage.  Ascending  to  the  first  landing, 
from  which  this  door  opened,  I  entered  the  room,  and 
found  my  wife,  with  a  shawl  drawn  around  her  shoulders, 
hovering  with  the  children  around  the  radiator-stove,  in 
which  was  faintly  visible,  through  the  transparent  mica  in 
the  door,  the  remains  of  a  departing  fire. 

"Hasn't  that  coal  been  sent  home?"  I  asked,  in  surprise 
at  the  omission. 

"No  coal  has  come  to-day,"  replied  my  wife,  shivering; 
"  and  we  are  almost  perished.  The  fire  has  gone  out  in 
the  furnace  and  range,  and  is  going  out  here.  Not  a 
mouthful  of  dinner  has  been  cooked." 

"Dear!  dear!  dear!  That's  too  bad!  too  bad!  I 
ordered  coal  the  first  thing  as  I  went  down;  and  told  the 
dealer  particularly  to  send  it  home  this  morning,  as  we 
were  entirely  out." 

"  He  hasn't  done  it  then.  What  shall  we  do  ?  I've 
taken  cold  already,  and  the  children  will  get  their  deaths." 

"  Surely,  enough  coal  might  have  been  scraped  up  to 
keep  the  fire  alive,"  said  I. 

"  I  sent  Biddy  down  twice,  and  told  her  to  rake  and 
scrape  up  every  piece  she  could  find ;  but  she  could  only 
get  the  scuttle  a  third  full." 

"  I'll  be  bound  I  can  find  coal  there,"  said  I,  positively, 
and  away  I  turned  and  plunged  down  into  the  cellar.  It 
was  so  dark  that,  for  a  few  moments,  I  could  see  nothing. 
But  I  groped  my  way  to  a  window,  and  removed  a  blind 
made  for  the  purpose  of  excluding  cold  in  winter.  Then 
[  went  back  to  the  coal-bins.  In  one,  I  found  a  large 
pile  of  dust,  several  feet  in  thickness.  On  probing  this 
with  a  stick,  I  discovered  that  it  contained  an  abundance 
of  coal,  in  large  and  small  lumps,  which  it  only  needed  a 
little  trouble  to  extricate.  There  was  not  less  than  half 
a  ton  concealed  in  this  pile  of  dust  and  refuse.  Another 
bin  was  examined,  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  ton  discovered 
there.  As  much  more  was  concealed  in  the  third  bin. 


114  SHOUT    OF    FUEL. 

Then,  scattered  about  in  all  directions,  under  the  wood, 
covered  with  chips,  and  lurking  in  corners,  where  it  had 
been  carelessly  left,  was  full  half  a  ton  more  of  good  coal ; 
making,  in  all,  about  a  ton  and  a  half;  and  yet  the  house 
was  as  cold  as  winter,  and  no  dinner  had  been  cooked  for 
want  of  fuel. 

"  Well,  this  does  beat  all !"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  glanced 
around  in  wonder. 

"Do  you  find  any  there ?"  called  my  wife  to  me,  in  an 
incredulous  voice,  from  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"Any  !  Yes ;  a  couple  of  tons  or  so,"  was  my  reply. 

"Indade,  thin,"  cried  Biddy,  who  was  at  the  side  of 
my  wife,  "  and  there  isn't  the  full  of  a  hod  there  that  I 
could  see." 

"None  so  blind  as  them  that  won't  see,"  I  retorted, 
angrily.  "  Bring  me  down  some  matches  and  a  newspaper, 
and  I'll  soon  have  a  fire  in  the  furnace." 

I  was  now  pretty  well  up,  so  far  as  temper  was  concern 
ed,  and  when  that  is  the  case,  I  generally  make  all  stand 
around  me,  as  they  say.  In  a  few  minutes  Biddy  came 
down  with  the  matches,  her  countenance  somewhat  fallen 
in  its  aspect.  I  was  at  work  clearing  out  the  ashes  and 
cinders  from  the  furnace.  That  done,  I  took  the  news 
paper  from  her  hand,  and  thrust  it  down  into  the  cylinder. 
On  this  I  poured  about  a  peck  of  charcoal,  and,  closing 
the  door,  touched  a  match  to  the  paper  below.  In  a 
moment  or  two  all  was  in  a  blaze,  and  the  igniting  char 
coal  crackling  as  it  absorbed  the  heat.  Next  I  took  a 
shovel,  and  in  a  few  hurried  applications  of  it  to  certain 
half-hidden  receptacles  of  coal  that  I  had  discovered, 
scraped  together  enough  to  last  for  a  couple  of  days. 

"Do  you  see  that?"  said  I,  speaking  with  no  great 
show  of  amiability. 

"  Sure,  and  it's  very  strange  !"  meekly  replied  Biddy. 

"  Indeed  it  is ;  passing  strange  !"  I  retorted.  "  With 
nearly  two  tons  of  coal  in  the  cellar,  and  not  a  fire  in  the 
house.  There's  half  a  ton  in  that  bin,  mixed  up  with  coal- 
dust.  See  there  !"  and  I  dashed  my  shovel  into  the  centre 
of  the  bin,  and  raking  open  the  heap  of  dust,  showed  a 
solid  bed  of  large-sized  coal  at  the  bottom ;  adding,  as  I 
did  so :  "  And  now  please  to  take  a  scuttleful  up  into  the 


SHORT    OF    FUEL.  115 

dining-room,  with  some  charcoal,  and  set  that  fire  going 
in  the  quickest  possible  time." 

Biddy  did  not  linger,  you  may  be  sure,  in  obeying  this 
direction.  She  had  seen  me  worked  up  before,  and  was 
pretty  well  aware  of  the  fact,  that  it  would  not  take  much 
more  provocation  to  make  me  turn  her  out  of  the  house, 
bag  and  baggage. 

By  this  time,  the  charcoal  I  had  thrown  into  the  fur 
nace  was  thoroughly  ignited.  In  order  to  get  up  the  heat 
that  was  needed,  as  quickly  as  possible,  I  turned  in  about 
half  a  bushel  more  of  charcoal  on  top  of  this,  and  then 
filled  it  up  with  the  hard  coal.  As  I  closed  the  door  of 
the  feeder,  the  draught  roared  encouragingly,  and  gave 
promise  of  a  speedy  change  in  the  chilling  aspect  of 
aifairs  above.  On  ascending  and  placing  my  hand  over 
the  register,  the  inward  pressure  of  warm  air  was  already 
perceived  ;  and  long  before  the  dining-room  fire  had  begun 
to  burn  freely,  my  shivering  wife  and  children  were  gath 
ered  in  the  parlour,  and  beginning  to  rejoice  over  the 
presence  of  a  more  agreeable  atmosphere. 

Of  course,  we  had  no  regular  dinner.  It  was  too  late 
in  the  day  for  the  preparation  of  that  meal.  But,  by  the 
time  the  dining-room  was  warm  enough  for  occupation, 
the  kettle  had  been  boiled,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  some 
bread  and  butter,  solaced  us  for  the  loss  of  a  more  sub 
stantial  repast. 

Through  some  mistake  my  order  for  coal  was  not  at 
tended  to,  and  consequently  we  had  no  new  supply.  I 
waited  patiently  and  curiously  for  the  result.  Steadily, 
as  of  old,  there  was  a  rush  of  hot  air  into  the  parlours, 
and  when  I  glanced  into  the  kitchen,  I  saw  the  range 
piled  to  the  top  plate  as  before ;  while  there  was  no  lack 
of  heat  in  the  dining-room.  I  did  not  renew  the  order 
for  coal,  for  I  wanted  to  see  how  long  this  state  of  things 
would  last. 

One  morning,  about  three  weeks  from  the  time  when 
Biddy  could  not  "find  the  full  of  a  scuttle"  of  coal  in  the 
cellar,  that  young  lady,  who  had  been  particularly  active 
and  obliging  since  the  occurrence  described,  whispered 
something  in  the  ear  of  my  wife  as  we  sat  at  the  break 
fast-table.  On  her  leaving  the  room,  my  wife  said — 


116  SHORT    OF    FUEL. 

46  Biddy  wishes  me  to  tell  you  that  she  has  scraped  up 
all  the  coal  in  the  cellar  it  is  possible  to  find,  and  that 
there  is  not  more  than  enough  to  last  through  the  day  and 
make  up  the  fires  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  will  see  that  there  is  a  new  supply." 
And  I  laughed  outright  as  I  spoke. 

I  did  not  go  into  the  cellar  to  make  any  further  exami 
nations,  for  I  was  well  convinced  that  we  were  now  "short 
of  fuel,"  and  no  mistake;  but  as  it  was  near  to  the  first 
of  April,  and  the  day  was  mild  as  spring,  I  did  not  suffer 
very  severely  in  view  of  the  extra  expense  for  coal  re 
quired  to  enable  us  to  pass  through  the  season.  The 
order  for  a  fresh  supply,  that  I  gave  as  I  passed  to  my 
business,  was  more  promptly  filled  than  the  one  previously- 
given. 


THE  FIRST  CIGAR. 

THROUGH  many  temptations,  Harry  Lawson  had  kept 
himself  pure  from  the  vice  of  smoking  until  he  arrived  at 
the  age  of  manhood.  To  him  it  was  a  most  disgusting 

117 


118  THE   FIRST   CIGAR. 

and  filthy  practice ;  and  there  were  certain  of  his  acquaint 
ances  whose  persons  were  so  offensive,  from  the  fact  that 
they  ever  bore  about  them  a  sickening  odour  of  tobacco 
smoke,  that  he  disliked  to  come  near  them.  How  delicate 
ladies  could  endure  the  presence  of  men  whose  clothes 
were  ever  reeking  with  fumes  from  the  nauseous  weed, 
was  to  him  a  subject  of  especial  wonder.  Young  men 
are  very  apt  to  fall  into  the  habit,  on  first  entering  life, 
of  speaking  lightly  of  the  other  sex ;  they  generally  learn 
better  ere  many  years  pass  over  their  heads.  Harry  fell 
into  this  habit  about  the  time  he  attained  his  majority; 
but  his  light  remarks  were  never  meant  for  more  than  a 
playful  retaliation  upon  his  sister  Helen,  whose  wit  was 
rather  sharp  when  men  came  within  reach  of  a  good 
thrust. 

"If  any  animal  but  man,"  he  used  sometimes  to  say, 
"with  an  odour  half  as  offensive  as  that  which  a  smoker 
bears  about  him  in  his  clothes  and  hair,  were  to  come  into 
a  lady's  presence,  she  would  faint  on  the  instant.  But 
'the  man's  the  man  for  a'  that!'" 

Helen  was  usually  highly  indignant  at  such  insinua 
tions,  and  would  declare  that,  for  her  part,  she  could 
much  better  endure  the  presence  of  a  whole  menagerie 
than  one  tobacco-smoker. 

"Ugh!  To  have  a  man  breathe  his  rank  breath  into 
your  face  until  you  grow  faint  under  the  infliction !  To 
have  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  in  which  you  are  sitting 
so  tainted  by  the  filthy  clothes  of  a  smoker — young,  ac 
complished,  well-dressed,  and  good-looking  though  he  be — 
as  to  be  obliged,  as  I  have  been,  to  air  it  for  hours  before 
the  offensive  smell  could  be  obliterated!  To  have  your 
handkerchief  filled  with  the  sickly  odour,  and  your  lips 
coated  with  a  disgusting,  bitter  film" — 

"Lips,  Helen!  Lips!"  exclaimed  the  brother,  when 
this  remark  was  made.  "  Why,  is  it  possible  that  you  let 
young  men,  and  smokers  at  that,  kiss  you!" 

"Now,  Harry,  that  is  too  bad!  Kiss  me!"  and  a 
shiver  ran  through  the  young  girl's  frame.  "I  might 
endure  to  be  kissed  by  a  dog  or  a  monkey,  but  by  a  to- 
bacco-chewer  or  smoker — never !  Ugh  !  The  very  thought 
makes  me  shudder." 


THE   FIRST   CIGAR.  Hl> 

"Then  how  could  your  lips  be  so  strangely  contami 
nated?" 

"Easily  enough,  as  you  very  well  know;  for  I  have 
heard  you,  dozens  of  times,  complain  of  the  very  same 
thing,  and  seen  you  over  and  over  again,  wash  your  lips 
with  cologne,  after  having  endured  the  presence  of  a 
smoker,  in  order  to  free  them  from  the  bitter,  sickening 
deposit  they  had  received  from  the  air  he  had  filled  with 
a  nauseous  vapour. "_^ 

"It  is  horrible ;  there's  no  denying  that,"  was  the  usual 
admission  of  Harry,  in  closing  a  light  sparring  contest  of 
this  nature.  "How  a  'human'  who  makes  any  preten 
sions  to  decency,  can  render  himself  so  disgusting,  passes 
my  comprehension." 

Harry  Lawson  was  a  young  attorney  but  recently  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar.  He  occupied,  as  an  office,  the  front 
parlour  of  the  house  in  which  his  family  resided,  and 
there,  patiently  or  impatiently,  according  as  his  temper 
of  mind  happened  to  be,  awaited  the  appearance  of  some 
members  of  that  class  of  individuals  who  know  their  rights 
and  are  willing  to  contend  for  them.  Daily  he  sat  and 
read  for  hours,  or  wandered  into  the  court-room  to  note 
the  cases  on  trial  and  mark  the  peculiar  modes  of  attack 
and  defence  as  carried  on  by  legal  belligerents.  Idle 
time  on  his  hands  led  him  to  seek  company  and  modes  of 
overcoming  the  dullness  of  waiting  for  something  to  do. 
Hiding  out,  tavern-lounging,  meeting  with  young  attorneys 
in  their  offices,  and  such  other  ways  of  killing  time  aa 
happened  to  turn  up,  were  all  resorted  to  by  the  incipient 
lawyer.  Of  course — 

"Have  a  cigar,  Harry?"  was  asked  of  him  daily;  for, 
among  his  associates,  nine  out  of  ten  used  the  weed. 

"Don't  smoke!  Is  it  possible?"  in  nearly  all  cases 
met  his  refusal  of  the  cigar,  even  by  those  whose  offer  of 
a  regalia  he  had  declined  some  forty  times  before.  And 
then  would  follow  looks  or  nods  that  made  him  feel  that 
he  lacked  a  manly  (?)  accomplishment.  Often  he  was  the 
odd  one  in  a  party  of  three  or  four,  all  of  whom,  but  him 
self,  were  sending  up  their  gracefully  wreathing  columns 
of  smoke,  which  fairly  darkened  the  room  in  which  they 
sat,  and  almost  suffocated  him.  So  far,  when  this  was 


120  THE   FIRST   CIGAR. 

the  case,  from  partaking  of  or  adding  to  the  general  en 
joyment,  he  rather  took  from  the  pleasure  of  his  com 
panions  and  felt  uncomfortable  himself. 

One  day  Harry  was  offered  a  cigar  by  a  friend,  in 
whose  office  he  was  sitting. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  came  as  usual  from  his  lips.  "I 
never  use  them."' 

"No?  Why,  man,  you  don't  know  what  you  lose. 
There  is  nothing  that  I  enjoy  like  a  good  cigar." 

"  Smoking  seems  to  me  an  idle,  useless  habit,"  said 
Lawson,  in  reply  to  this. 

"That  only  shows  what  you  know  about  it.  There  is 
nothing  equal,  as  a  digester,  to  a  good  cigar.  I  don't 
think  I  could  live  without  a  cigar  after  dinner.  And 
then,  when  you  sit  down  alone,  or  with  a  friend  in  the 
evening,  after  the  excitement  and  care  of  the  day  are 
over,  it  tranquillizes  your  feelings  and  gives  wings  to  your 
thoughts.  You  don't  know  what  you  lose,  Harry.  Take 
my  advice  and  learn  to  smoke.  Here,"  and  he  tossed  a 
cigar  into  the  hat  of  Lawson,  "  is  one  of  the  mildest  and 
purest  flavoured  cigars  I  ever  had.  Try  it." 

Harry  shook  his  head,  and  lifting  the  cigar,  reached  it 
to  his  companion;  but  the  latter  pushed  back  the  hand, 
saying — 

"No — no.  I  want  you  to  try  that.  If  not  now,  take 
it  home  with  you.  It's  as  mild  and  sweet-flavoured  as  a 
rose." 

When  Harry  got  home,  the  cigar  was  still  in  his  hat ; 
and,  as  he  removed  the  latter  from  his  head,  it  fell  upon 
the  floor.  He  picked  it  up  and  looked  at  it.  Next  he 
inhaled  its  fragrance. 

"It  smells  pleasant  enough,"  said  he.  There  was  a 
glowing  grate  before  him,  and  lamp-lighters  on  the  man 
tel.  To  set  fire  to  the  little  roll  of  tobacco  was  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world.  Something  whispered  him  to  make 
the  experiment,  and,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  he  yielded 
to  the  temptation.  Next  the  cigar  touched  his  lips ;  and 
then  he  drew  his  mouth  full  of  offensive  smoke.  After 
puffing  this  out,  he  tried  it  again ;  and  repeated  the  opera 
tion  for  half  a  dozen  times  in  quick  succession.  Then 
there  was  a  brief  pause  for  reflection  and  observation  of 


THE   FIRST   CIGAR.  121 

the  sensations  produced.  The  latter  were  not  remarkably 
pleasant.  With  a  sort  of  blind  desperation  he  put  the 
cigar  again  to  his  mouth,  and  drew  away  upon  it  for  two 
or  three  times  more.  As  he  removed  it  from  his  lips,  he 
experienced  rather  a  disagreeable  feeling  about  the  epi 
glottis  ;  water,  at  the  same  time,  beginning  to  pour  rather 
freely  from  the  glands  into  his  mouth.  Not  liking  this 
sensation,  he  arose  and  commenced  walking  about  the 
floor ;  but  it  increased  instead  of  diminishing.  In  a  little 
while  he  sat  down  upon  a  sofa  that  was  in  the  room,  feel 
ing  decidedly  sick.  Just  at  this  moment,  Helen  entered 
the  office,  and  on  seeing  her  brother  looking  very  pale, 
exclaimed — 

"Why,  Harry,  what  ails  you?" 

The  young  man  felt  in  no  mood  to  answer  questions. 
But  an  answer  was  not  needed.  The  smoky  atmosphere, 
and  the  tell-tale  cigar  still  lying  between  his  fingers,  re 
vealed  the  whole  truth. 

"  Really  !  Upon  my  word !"  fell  from  the  young  girl's 
lips.  "Smoking!  Why,  Harry!  You're  sick,  are  you! 
I'm  glad  of  it !  Serves  you  right !  Now,  ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself!" 

But  Harry  was,  by  this  time,  too  sick  to  feel  shame  or 
any  other  emotion  kindred  thereto.  And  Helen,  seeing 
that  he  grew  paler,  began  to  be  a  little  alarmed. 

"Do  you  feel  very  sick,  Harry?"  she  asked,  in  a 
changed  voice. 

"Sick  as  death!"  murmured  the  young  man,  as  the 
burning  token  of  his  folly  dropped  from  his  fingers,  and 
he  threw  himself  back  at  full  length  upon  the  sofa  with  a 
groan.  His  face  was  pale  as  the  ashes  his  falling  cigar 
had  strewn  about  the  floor. 

Frightened  at  this,  Helen  ran  from  the  room,  and 
announced  to  the  other  members  of  the  family,  in  an  agi 
tated  voice,  that  Harry  was  extremely  ill.  Mr.  Lawson, 
the  father  of  the  young  man,  started  up  in  alarm  and  ran 
down  to  the  office,  followed  more  slowly  by  the  mother, 
whose  limbs  trembled  so  that  she  could  scarcely  walk. 

In  a  few  moments  the  experimental  smoker  was  sur 
rounded  by  some  half  dozen  persons,  old  and  young, 
including  even  the  servants  of  the  family;  yet  was  he 


122  THE   FIRST   CIGAR. 

still  so  deathly  sick  and  faint,  that  he  did  not  open  his 
eyes,  nor  answer  the  questions  put  to  him,  except  in  a 
confused,  scarcely  audible  murmur.  But  he  could  hear 
all  that  was  said ;  and  some  of  the  remarks  did  not  in  any 
way  improve  his  feelings. 

"What's  this?"  he  heard  his  father  ask,  in  a  quick, 
surprised  voice.  "Oh!"  and  the  tone  was  changed. 
"A  cigar! — Upon  my  word!  Here's  the  secret!  He's 
been  smoking.  Well,  he  deserves  to  be>sick,  that's  all  I 
have  to  say;  the  foolish  fellow!" 

" Hadn't  we  better  send  for  the  doctor?"  asked  Harry's 
mother. 

"No.  Let  him  get  over  it,"  replied  the  father. 
"  There's  no  danger  of  his  dying." 

"But  he's  very  sick." 

"The  sicker  the  better.     Served  perfectly  right." 

While  this  pleasant  little  chit-chat,  all  of  which  reached 
the  ears  of  Harry,  was  going  on,  Helen  commenced 
bathing  his  face  and  forehead  with  cold  water,  and  then 
applied  salts  to  his  nostrils.  This  had  the  effect  to  revive 
him,  and  to  throw  off  the  violent  sickness  he  felt.  But 
when  he  attempted  to  sit  up  his  head  reeled,  and  he  sank 
back  again  upon  the  sofa,  afflicted  with  a  most  dreadful 
nausea. 

Finally,  he  was  assisted  to  his  chamber,  where  he  hid 
himself  in  bed,  and  there  remained  until  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  he  reappeared,  feeling  much  like  a  man  who 
had  been  caught  with  a  stolen  sheep  on  his  back. 

That  was  Harry  Lawson's  first  cigar,  and — his  last 
one. 


JANUARY  BILLS. 


THE  year  18 —  proved  a  very  good  year  for  Mr. 
Archibald  Lane.  His  business  steadily  increased  from 
the  first  of  January,  and  his  profits  were  as  fair  as  they 
had  ever  been.  Heretofore,  his  expenses  had  kept  so 
closely  side  by  side  with  his  income,  as  to  leave  his  mind 
oppressed  with  care,  and  in  some  doubt  as  to  future  suc 
cess  ;  but  during  18 — ,  all  had  been  so  brisk  in  matters 
of  trade,  and  so  easy  in  matters  of  money,  that  his  mind 
was  uniformly  cheerful,  and  sometimes  elated.  He  felt 
that,  at  last,  he  was  entering  the  way  to  prosperity ;  a 
way  he  had  so  long  been  seeking  earnestly  to  find. 

As  the  year  drew  toward  its  close,  Mr.  Lane  experi 
enced  a  feeling  of  self-satisfaction  unusual  at  such  time. 
A  doubt  as  to  which  would  over-balance  the  other,  his 
expenses  or  his  profits,  had  usually  made  the  last  week 
of  the  year  one  of  great  sobriety  to  Mr.  Lane.  In  18 — 
it  was  different.  As  the  year  waned,  he  had  none  of  the 
old  feelings,  for  he  was  well  satisfied  that  he  would  have 
several  hundred  dollars  on  the  profit  side  of  the  account, 
above  and  beyond  all  expenses,  something  that  had  not 
occurred  in  former  times. 

"If  I  have  made  both  ends  meet,  I  will  be  satisfied," 
was  his  usual  mental  declaration,  when  he  proceeded  to 
make  up  his  account  for  the  year.  It  was  different  now. 

"If  I  don't  have  five  or  six  hundred  dollars  over,  I 
shall  be  much  mistaken."  This  was  the  pleasant  remark 
of  Mr.  Lane  to  himself,  as  he  began  the  work  of  ascer 
taining  the  result  of  his  year's  business.  All  came  out 
pretty  much  as  he  had  expected.  There  was  a  balance 

11*  125 


126  JANUAKY  BILLS. 

in  his  favour  of  about  six  hundred  dollars,  after  a  liberal 
margin  had  been  allowed  for  certain  bad  and  doubtful 
accounts. 

"  Things  begin  to  look  a  little  brighter,"  said  Mr.  Lane, 
as  he  sat  alone  with  his  wife  on  New  Year's  eve.  The 
younger  children  were  in  bed,  and  the  two  oldest  daugh 
ters,  Kate  and  Emily,  were  out,  spending  the  evening 
with  a  friend.  This  was  said  after  taking  a  cigar  from 
his  mouth,  and  letting  the  smoke  curl  lazily  about  his 
head,  which  was  reclining  on  the  back  of  a  cushioned 
rocking-chair. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Lane. 
And  she  spoke  from  her  heart.  New  Year's  eve  had  not 
always  been  a  cheerful  time. 

"I've  been  looking  over  my  affairs  to-day,"  continued 
the  husband,  "and  find  myself  better  off  than  I  was  at 
this  time  last  year,  by  at  least  six  hundred  dollars." 
"That  is  encouraging." 

"  I  feel  it  so.  I  trust  things  are  to  be  easier  in  future, 
and  that  we  will  get  a  little  beforehand  in  the  world.  It 
is  time ;  for  I  will  soon  be  in  years,  and  less  able  to  give 
active  attention  to  business." 

"I'm  pleased  on  more  than  one  account,"  said  Mrs. 
Lane,  "to  hear  that  you  have  done  so  well  this  year. 
I've  been  a  good  deal  worried  to-day  about  a  bill  that  I 
had  no  idea  would  be  half  as  large  as  it  is.  It  was  sent 
in  this  morning." 

"Whose  bill  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Lane,  with  an  ap 
parent  change  of  feeling. 

"Mr.  Mercer's  bill  for  dry  goods." 
"I  didn't  know  there  was  a  bill  there." 
"  Oh  yes.     Don't  you  remember  that  you  told  me  to  get 
whatever  the  family  wanted  from  him?" 
"I  didn't  mean  to  run  up  a  bill,  though." 
"  It  was  so  understood  by  me.     But  that  makes  little 
difference.     If  the  money  had  been  paid  down,  the  cash 
would  not  be  on  hand  now." 
"How  much  is  the  bill?" 
"I'm  'most  afraid  to  say." 
"How  much?" 
"One  hundred  and  thirty  dollars." 


JANUARY  BILLS.  127 

"  Why,  Anna !  Bless  my  heart !  How  in  the  world 
could  you  run  up  a  bill  like  that?" 

"I've  bought  very  little  for  myself,"  replied  the  rebuk 
ed  wife,  in  a  subdued  and  choking  voice.  "Nearly  all 
has  been  used  for  you  and  the  children." 

"A  hundred  and  thirty  dollars!  Oh  dear!  dear! 
dear!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Lane,  throwing  his  cigar  into  the 
grate,  and  beginning  to  rock  himself  violently.  "So much 
of  my  six  hundred  dollars'  profit  scattered  to  the  winds ! 
I  wonder  how  many  more  bills  you  will  have  coming  in!" 

This  was  downright  cruel;  and  so  Mrs.  Lane  felt  it. 
She  did  not,  however,  punish  him  for  the  ungenerous  re 
mark  with  tears,  for  she  was  not  a  woman  disposed  on  all 
occasions  to  give  way  to  this  weakness.  Her  reply  was : — 

"None  that  the  wants  of  the  family  have  not  required 
to  be  made." 

"But  I  wished  you  to  pay  cash,  Anna.  You  know 
that,  last  January,  when  we  were  almost  smothered  with 
bills  from  all  quarters,  we  made  a  resolution  to  pay  cash 
for  every  thing  during  the  coming  year;  and  I  thought 
this  had  been  done." 

"I  know  very  well  that  such  a  thing  was  talked  about," 
replied  Mrs.  Lane;  "and,  I  believe,  acted  upon  for  a  time. 
And  I  also  know  that  you  yourself  told  me  to  open  an 
account  at  Mercer's,  in  the  spring,  when  I  asked  you  for 
money  to  purchase  summer  clothing  for  the  family." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  have  it  go  beyond  that,"  said  Mr. 
Lane,  modifying  his  tone.  "But  what  other  bills  are 
there?" 

"There  is  a  bill  at  Cheeseman's  for  groceries." 

"  That  can't  be  much,  for  I  have  bought  almost  every 
thing  in  quantities." 

^No,  I  don't  suppose  it  will  amount  to  any  thing  of 
consequence." 

"Any  other  bills?" 

"No;  none,  except  the  bread  bill.' 

"I  thought  you  paid  cash  for  bread?" 

"We  never  did  that,  Mr.  Lane.  The  baker  serves  us 
daily,  marking  on  his  tally-stick  the  number  of  loaves; 
and  once  in  three  or  six  months  sends  in  the  bill,  when  it 
is  paid." 


128  JANUARY   BILLS. 

"How  long  has  his  bill  been  running?" 

"Six  months,  I  believe." 

"And  will  be  forty  or  fifty  dollars." 

"Not  half  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Lane. 

"Well,  what  else  is  there?" 

"Nothing  more,  I  believe." 

"  I  hope  not.  Here  are  about  two  hundred  dollars  cut 
off  at  a  blow  from  the  supposed  profits  of  the  year.  Con 
found  these  bills!  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
credit." 

Mr.  Lane  was,  as  a  matter  of  course,  unhappy  from 
that  moment.  Had  these  bills  not  existed,  and  the  sur 
plus  of  the  year  shown  the  pleasant  aggregate  of  four 
hundred  dollars,  he  would  have  been  quite  as  happy  as 
when  he  figured  it  up  at  six  hundred.  But,  in  imagina 
tion,  he  had  been  better  off  by  two  hundred  dollars  than 
the  truth  now  discovered  him  to  be,  and  the  loss  was  felt 
as  real.  The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  gloomily 
enough.  When  Mr.  Lane  retired  to  bed,  he  could  not 
sleep  for  thinking  of  the  dry  goods,  grocery,  and  bread 
bills.  While  he  thus  lay  awake,  memory  assisted  him  to 
the  knowledge  of  two  or  three  other  little  matters  of  the 
same  kind.  There  was  an  unsettled  tailor's  bill  that 
might  take  twenty-five  or  thirty  dollars  to  balance ;  and 
the  boot-maker  had  something  against  him.  Ten  bushels 
of  potatoes  and  three  barrels  of  apples  that  he  had  ordered 
sent  home  in  October,  were  yet  to  be  paid  for.  At  least 
fifty  dollars  more  of  his  year's  profits  vanished. 

At  last,  Mr.  Lane  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  all  night 
of  bills  that  came  almost  in  a  shower  around  him.  On 
New  Year  morning,  he  sat  silent  and  moody  at  the  break 
fast-table,  eating  but  little,  and  looking  no  one  in  the  face. 
All  were  oppressed  by  his  state  of  mind,  though  none  Jmt 
his  wife  knew  its  nature  and  the  cause  from  which  it  was 
produced. 

It  was  early  when  Mr.  Lane  went  to  his  place  of  busi 
ness  on  the  morning  of  the  first  of  January ;  not  so  early, 
however,  but  that  one  or  two  persons  had  preceded  him, 
and  left  behind  them  visible  tokens  of  the  fact.  On  his 
desk  were  a  couple  of  sealed  notes.  He  opened  them 
with  a  vague  presentiment  of  something  disagreeable,  and 


JANUARY   BILLS.  129 

he  was  not  disappointed.  The  first  contained  a  narrow 
slip  of  paper,  with  a  printed  head,  and  certain  written 
characters  and  figures  below,  which  plainly  enough  ex 
pressed  the  fact  that  he  was  indebted  to  a  certain  dealer 
in  groceries  in  the  sum  of  seventy-six  dollars. 

"Oh  dear!"  was  the  mental  exclamation  of  pain  that 
followed  the  perusal  of  this  bill.  That  a  little  piece  of 
paper,  three  or  four  inches  wide  and  six  inches  long, 
should  have  such  power  over  the  feelings  of  a  man ! 

The  next  billet  was  opened  with  a  more  nervous  state 
of  mind.  As  he  broke  the  seal  and  displaced  the  en 
velope,  another  narrow  piece  of  paper,  folded  over  from 
the  ends  in  three  sections,  dropped  upon  the  desk.  It 
was  the  bread  bill  for  six  months,  and  called  for  forty- 
four  dollars  and  ten  cents. 

"Is  it  possible?  Too  bad!  too  bad!  too  bad!  I  had 
no  idea  of  this." 

Thus  the  unhappy  man  expressed  his  feelings.  While 
yet  holding  this  bill  in  his  hand,  a  lad  entered  the  store ; 
and,  coming  back  to  the  desk  where  he  sat,  politely 
handed  him  an  ominous  piece  of  paper,  and  retired.  He 
opened  it,  and  read : — 

"Mr.  Archibald  Lane— Bought  of,"  &c. 

The  particulars  were,  an  air-tight  stove,  at  twelve 
dollars;  a  cooking-stove,  at  thirty;  and  various  other 
matters  of  Russia  pipe,  fire-boards,  etc.,  in  all,  amounting 
to  fifty-five  dollars. — Though  the  genial  heat  from  the 
air-tight  stove  had  comforted  Mr.  Lane  every  evening 
since  it  came  home,  and  he  had  enjoyed  the  improved 
cooking  of  the  new  addition  to  the  kitchen  department, 
he  had  entirely  forgotten  that  the  bill  for  these  increased 
advantages  had  never  been  settled. 

"I  declare!"  he  exclaimed,  half  aloud,  and  striking  the 
desk  as  he  spoke.  "How  came  I  to  forget  that  bill!  I 
meant  to  have  paid  it  when  the  articles  came  home,  and 
told  Jenkins  to  send  it  in." 

Soon  after  this,  Mr.  Lane's  young  man  came  in  from 
the  post-office.  There  were  three  letters,  each  with  the 
city  post-mark,  and  each  with  a  bill  enclosed.  One,  the 
tailor's  bill,  called  for  forty-eight  dollars;  another  was 
from  a  hatter,  and  demanded  five;  and  the  third  came 


180  JANUARY   BILLS. 

from  a  jobbing  carpenter,  who  had  been  called  in  at  sun 
dry  times  to  mend  and  make,  and  asked  for  the  sum  of 
twenty-three  dollars,  ninety-two  cents. 

Mr.  Lane  read  them  over,  and  then  placed  them  under 
a  paper-weight  on  his  desk,  uttering,  at  the  same  time,  a 
long-drawn  sigh. 

The  morning  paper  was  yet  unread.  It  lay  on  the 
desk  beside  Mr.  Lane ;  and,  from  habit  more  than  from 
any  desire  to  know  its  contents,  he  opened  it  and  com 
menced  reading.  An  occurrence  of  some  interest  had 
taken  place  in  a  neighbouring  city ;  and  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  narrative  of  the  event,  and  much  interested  in 
it,  when  he  started  and  turned  quickly  at  the  sound  of  a 
voice  near  him.  A  man  had  entered,  and  was  standing 
at  his  elbow. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Lane,"  said  the  man. 

"  Good  morning,  Williams,"  returned  Mr.  Lane.  "  Can 
I  do  any  thing  for  you  to-day!"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of 
affected  cheerfulness. 

"Not  much,"  said  the  visitor,  removing  his  hat  as  he 
spoke,  and  taking  therefrom  a  small  package  of  papers, 
which  he  commenced  turning  over. 

"You  hav'nt  a  bill  against  me?"  Mr.  Lane  spoke 
confidently. 

"  What  do  you  call  that  ?"  replied  the  man,  as  he  drew  a 
slip  of  paper  from  the  package  in  his  hand,  and  presented  it. 

"  One  barrel  of  flour ;  five  hams ;  a  bushel  of  corn-meal, 
and  a  sack  of  salt.  Bless  me !  Didn't  I  pay  for  these 
at  the  time?" 

The  man  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  it's  nine  months  since  I  made  the  purchase ! 
And  I'm  certain  I  told  you  to  send  in  the  bill.  I  never 
like  small  matters  of  this  kind  to  stand." 

"It's  been  overlooked.  But  the  money  will  be  just  as 
good  now,"  was  the  pleasant  answer. 

With  as  good  a  grace  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  as 
sume,  Mr.  Lane  turned  to  his  desk,  and  drawing  forth 
his  pocket-book,  counted  out  thirteen  dollars;  saying,  as 
he  did  so, 

"The  next  time  I  make  a  bill  at  your  store,  I  wish  you 
to  send  it  in  before  the  first  of  January." 


JANUARY  BILLS.  131 

"I  won't  promise,"  was  good-hum  ouredly  replied,  as 
the  man  bowed  and  withdrew.  The  pleasure  was  all  on 
his  side,  and  he  could  afford  to  be  in  a  good  humour. 

"I  hope  that's  the  last,"  said  Mr.  Lane  as  he  wound 
the  string  of  his  great  pocket-book  around  and  around  its 
distended  sides,  and  then  laid  it  carefully  back  in  his 
desk.  But  he  was  in  error.  Ere  the  day  passed,  his 
bootmaker  sent  in  his  bill,  amounting  to  fifteen  dollars; 
and  from  a  ladies'  shoemaker  came  a  like  token,  footed 
up  with  the  sum  of  twenty  dollars  more.  An  upholsterer 
had  been  called  upon  to  make  a  chamber-carpet,  and  do 
sundry  little  matters  about  the  house  during  the  year ; 
and  he  called  for  eight  dollars  and  thirty-four  cents. 
Then  the  jobbing  cabinet-maker  had  his  account  to  settle 
with  Mr.  Lane,  for  sundry  applications  of  his  art  to 
broken-backed  chairs,  rickety  tables,  loose  veneering, 
etc.  etc.,  for  all  of  which  he  wanted  sixteen  dollars. 
Thus  it  went  on,  hour  after  hour,  until  toward  evening. 
The  glazier  called  for  two  dollars  and  a  half;  the  tinner 
presented  a  bill  for  five  dollars ;  and  the  gas-fitter  for  eight. 

By  this  time,  human  patience,  at  least  so  far  as  Mr. 
Lane  was  concerned,  had  become  wellnigh  exhausted. 
He  felt  like  making  a  very  severe  application  of  his  foot 
to  any  man  or  boy  who  might  again  invade  his  premises 
with  a  bill.  He  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  in  this  not  very 
amiable  mood,  with  the  bills  he  had  received  since  morn 
ing  spread  out  before  him,  and  a  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand, 
upon  which  the  whole  of  the  sums  they  called  for,  amount 
ing  to  four  hundred  and  sixty-nine  dollars  and  eighty-six 
cents,  had  been  added  up,  when  he  heard  the  door  open 
and  shut.  Turning,  with  a  nervous  start,  he  saw  the 
familiar  face  of  an  old  negro  who  had  polished  his  boots 
for  the  last  half  dozen  years.  He  knew  his  errand,  and 
felt  that  this  was  like  adding  insult  to  injury.  Peter 
came  shuffling  back  toward  the  desk  at  which  Lane  re 
mained  seated  with  contracted  brows,  revealing,  at  each 
step,  more  and  more,  of  his  polished  ivory. 

"Little  bill,  massa  Lane,"  said  the  negro,  producing, 
as  he  spoke,  a  dingy  piece  of  paper. 

This  was  too  much.  It  was  an  ordeal  beyond  what 
overtried  patience  could  bear. 


132  JANUARY  BILLS. 

"Clear  out,  you  black  rascal!"  exclaimed  the  sufferer, 
in  a  passionate  voice.  "If  you  say  'bill'  to  me,  I'll  cut 
your  ears  off!" 

Such  an  unexpected  reception  from  "Massa  Lane," 
who  had  been  looked  upon  by  Peter  as  one  of  the  most 
amiable  men  in  the  world,  completely  astounded  the  poor 
negro ;  and  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  glancing  back  every 
now  and  then  to  see  if  an  inkstand  or  paper-weight  were 
not  advancing  in  the  direction  of  his  head  with  something 
like  lightning  speed. 

To  sudden  storms  there  always  follows  a  deep  calm. 
By  the  time  Peter  had  vanished  through  the  door,  retiring 
at  a  velocity  which  could  not  have  been  greatly  increased 
had  a  pack  of  wolves  been  at  his  heels,  Mr.  Lane's  mind 
was  trembling  back  from  its  state  of  uncontrollable  excite 
ment.  Laying  his  face  down  upon  the  desk,  he  sighed 
heavily.  Mortification  took  the  place  of  irritation,  and 
anger  against  others  was  succeeded  by  anger  against  him 
self. 

"Ah  me!"  was  breathed  forth  heavily,  at  last;  and 
raising  himself  up,  he  gathered  together  the  bills  that 
were  spread  out  before  him,  and  thrusting  them  into  the 
desk,  turned  the  key  with  a  firm  hand,  making  the  lock 
click  as  the  bolt  sprang  to  its  place. 

When  Mr.  Lane  went  home  that  evening,  his  mind  was 
calm.  He  had  passed  through  a  day  of  sad  trial  and  dis 
appointment  ;  but  he  knew  the  worst,  and  was  prepared 
for  it.  When  the  milk  bill,  milliner's  and  mantuamaker's 
bills,  and  sundry  other  little  bills  were  laid  before  him, 
he  exhibited  no  emotion.  They  were  to  his  feelings  like 
a  gentle  breeze  after  a  violent  tempest.  But  on  one 
thing  he  was  resolved ;  and  that  was,  to  pay  cash  in  fu 
ture  for  every  thing. 

"There  must  be  no  January  bills  next  year,"  said  he 
to  his  family,  after  he  had  looked  at  the  sum  to  pay  long 
enough  to  be  able  to  speak  on  the  subject  without  visible 
emotion.  "Let  cash  be  paid  for  every  thing  in  the  time 
to  come.  If  the  money  isn't  in  hand  when  the  want  pre 
sents  itself,  let  the  want  wait!" 

This  was  a  good  resolution.  But  did  Mr.  Lane  and 
his  family  abide  by  it  ?  Next  January  will  tell. 


DISCOVERING  A  LEAK. 


"PLEASE,  mim,  the  butter  is  all  out,"  said  Nancy, 
thrusting  her  face  into  the  door  of  the  room  where  Mrs. 
Peabody  sat  sewing. 

"  Impossible !"  was  the  lady's  reply.  "  Impossible, 
Nancy."  ,, 

"  Indade,  mim,  and  there  ain't  enough  for  supper. 

"What  has  become  of  it,  Nancy?"  asked  Mrs.  Peabody. 
"  I  bought  four  pounds  day  before  yesterday.  It's  im 
possible!  It  can't  be  all  gone." 

"  Faith  and  alive,  thin,  Mrs.  Peabody,  and  sure  it  s 
been  used."  m 


134  DISC OV BRING    A    LEAK. 

"  Never !" 

The  lady  was  positive  in  her  assertion  that  the  butter 
had  not  been  fairly  disposed  of;  while  Nancy  quite  as 
positively  maintained  the  affirmative  of  the  question  at 
issue  between  them.  The  result  was,  Mrs.  Peabody  had 
to  buy  more  butter,  and  continue  in  darkness  as  to  the 
ways  and  means  by  which  four  pounds  of  that  necessary 
article  of  table  comfort  had  vanished  in  about  two  days. 

"  The  white  sugar  is  all  out,"  said  Nancy,  after  break 
fast  on  the  next  morning. 

"  The  white  sugar  out !    Are  you  certain,  Nancy  ?" 

"  Yis,  indade.  There  ain't  the  full  of  a  tae-cup  in  the 
house." 

"  Didn't  Mr.  Brown  send  home  ten  pounds  of  sugar  on 
Saturday?" 

"I  don't  think  there  were  ten  pounds,  mim." 

"Well,  I  do,  then.  I  know  there  were  ten  pounds. 
We  always  get  ten  pounds  at  a  time.  Are  you  sure  there 
is  none  in  the  box?" 

"  Sure  and  sartin,  mim." 

"It's  very  strange  !  Ten  pounds  of  white  sugar  in  five 
days !  What  have  you  done  with  it,  Nancy?" 

"  Me  done  with  it,  mim !  And  do  yees  mane  to  in- 
sineate  that  I  wouldn't  act  honestly?" 

"  I  don't  insinuate  any  thing,  Nancy ;  I  only  ask  what 
has  been  done  with  ten  pounds  of  sugar  in  five  days  ?  It 
was  placed  in  your  keeping,  and  it's  gone.  Now  I  only 
desire  to  know  how  it  has  been  disposed  of." 

"  It's  been  used  in  the  family,  in  course,"  said  Nancy. 

"  No :  that  is  impossible.  We  only  use  white  sugar  for 
tea  and  coffee  twice  a  day.  Ten  pounds,  properly  taken 
care  of,  ought  to  last  two  weeks." 

"Not  if  the  children  are  allowed  to  ate  it  as  they  do." 

"Who  allows  them  to  eat  it?  I'm  sure  I  don't,"  said 
Mrs.  Peabody. 

"  I  can't  keep  them  from  it,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  The  children  never  ate  all  that  sugar." 

"Well,  mim,  it's  gone,"  said  Nancy. 

And  that  was  about  all  the  satisfaction  Mrs.  Peabody 
could  get. 

Not  only  did  sugar  and  butter  vanish  thus  unaccounta- 


DISCOVERING    A    LEAK.  135 

bly,  but  flour  and  meal,  soap  and  starch,  and  other  things 
too  various  to  mention. 

"I  can't  stand  this,"  said  Mr.  Peabody,  when  his 
quarter's  bill  of  groceries  came  in.  "  One  hundred  and 
forty-eight  dollars !" 

"Not  that  much,  surely,"  said  Mrs.  Peabody. 

"  Yes ;  one  hundred  and  forty-eight.  We  never  had  a 
bill  like  this  before." 

"  Isn't  there  some  mistake  ?  Perhaps  Brown  has  sent 
you  the  wrong  bill  and  pass-book." 

Mr.  Peabody  referred  to  the  cover  of  the  pass-book,  and 
read — 

"  'Henry  Peabody,  in  account,'  &c.  It's  our  book,  you 
see." 

"  There's  something  wrong,"  persisted  Mrs.  Peabody. 

"That  I  will  readily  admit,"  replied  her  husband. 
"But  where  is  it?" 

"May  be  the  book  is  not  added  up  right,"  suggested 
the  lady. 

Mr.  Peabody  hurriedly  added  up  page  after  page  of  the 
book. 

"All  correct,  so  far  as  that  is  concerned." 

"  Then  we  are  charged  with  more  than  we  received," 
said  Mrs.  Peabody. 

"  No ;  I  don't  believe  that.  But,  to  be  certain,  let  me 
read  off  the  different  articles." 

This  was  done ;  and  Mrs.  Peabody  could  not  positively 
Bay  that  any  charge  was  wrong,  although  the  entries  of 
tea,  sugar,  coffee,  oil,  butter,  and  lard,  were  remarkably 
frequent. 

"  If  it's  all  come  into  the  house,  it  hasn't  all  been 
eaten,"  said  Mrs.  Peabody,  in  a  positive  tone  of  voice. 

"  Then  there  must  be  a  leak  somewhere,"  said  her  hus 
band. 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is ;  but  how  are  we  to  discover  it  ? 
Nancy's  a  very  extravagant  cook,  and  lays  a  heavy  hand 
upon  every  thing.  I  believe  she  wastes  more  than  her 
wages  amount  to." 

"  She  must  have  a  heavy  hand  to  make  things  go  after 
this  fashion.  Are  you  sure  she's  honest  ?" 

"  I've  seen  nothing  to  make  me  think  differently." 


136  DISCOVERING    A    LEAK. 

"  Have  you  talked  to  her  about  the  way  things  go  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Peabody;  "over  and  over 
again.  But  it  does  no  good.  She  declares  that  every 
thing  which  comes  to  the  house  is  used  in  the  house ;  anC 
what,  then,  can  I  say  ?  I  shouldn't  like  to  accuse  an  in 
nocent  person  of  stealing." 

"  It's  rather  a  serious  matter  to  accuse  any  one  of  that 
crime.  But  there's  a  leak  somewhere,  and  we  must  find 
it." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  find  it,"  said  Mrs.  Peabody,  de 
spondingly. 

"  Human  ingenuity  is  equal  to  any  thing.  We  must 
find  the  leak,  Anna." 

And,  in  good  earnest,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Peabody  set  to 
work  to  find  the  leak. 

Among  the  frequent  visitors  of  Nancy  the  cook,  was  a 
woman  who  always  carried  a  basket  and  wore  a  cloak. 
This  person  Mrs.  Peabody  often  met  in  the  kitchen,  and, 
as  she  was  introduced  by  Nancy  as  a  poor  woman  in  bad 
health,  with  several  young  children,  the  lady's  feelings 
were  interested  in  her  favour,  and  she  often  made  her 
presents  of  old  clothing,  and  sometimes  gave  her  flour  and 
tea. 

Nancy  had  known  this  woman  in  Ireland,  and  spoke  of 
her  as  having  seen  better  days.  Particularly  did  she 
dwell  upon  the  honest  character  she  had  borne  at  home. 
In  this  way  a  very  favourable  impression  was  made  upon 
Mrs.  Peabody. 

"  What  old  woman  was  that  I  saw  coming  out  through 
the  basement  to-day?"  asked  Mr.  Peabody,  on  coming 
home  one  evening  rather  earlier  than  usual. 

"  Had  she  on  an  old  brown  camblet  cloak  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  she's  a  poor  woman  who  comes  to  see  Nancy 
sometimes." 

"And  does  she  always  bring  her  basket  along?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Peabody. 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?"  said  the  lady. 

"I  guess  you'll  find  the  leak  you  spoke  of  there." 

"  Oh  no !  oh  no !  I  don't  believe  the  old  creature 
would  take  any  thing  which  was  not  given  to  her." 


DISCOVERING    A    £EAK.  137 

"  That  may  be.  But  are  you  fully  advised  as  to  the 
extent  of  Nancy's  generosity  ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  she  would  take  any  thing,  unless  it 
was  cold  meat  or  broken  bread." 

"Have  you  ever  looked  into  her  basket?" 

"No." 

"  How  often  does  she  come  ?" 

"  Two  or  three  times  a  week,  I  believe." 

"  0  mother,"  spoke  up  a  bright-looking  boy,  who  was 
an  attentive  listener.  "  She's  here  every  day,  and  some 
times  twice  a  day." 

"Indeed!  You're  sure  of  that,  Harry?"  said  Mr. 
Peabody. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Nancy  give  her  any  thing  ?" 

"  I  saw  her  put  a  great  chunk  of  butter  in  her  basket 
yesterday." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Anything  else?" 

"  Some  papers.  I  don't  know  what  was  in  them, 
though." 

"Did  Nancy  see  you  when  she  did  this?"  asked  Mr. 
Peabody. 

"No,  sir.     I  was  looking  in  at  the  window." 

"  Henry's  mistaken.  I  can't  believe  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Peabody,  in  a  positive  voice. 

"  It  will  be  an  easy  matter  to  settle.  The  next  time 
she  comes,  take  the  liberty  to  look  into  her  basket." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  like  to  do  that." 

"  Look  into  her  basket,  Anna,  and,  my  word  for  it, 
you'll  find  the  leak." 

Mrs.  Peabody  shook  her  head  positively  at  this  sug 
gestion. 

"  If  I  catch  her  here,  I  shall  most  certainly  do  it,"  said 
Mr.  Peabody. 

"  You'll  only  hurt  the  old  woman's  feelings.  It's  bad 
enough  to  be  poor,  without  having  suspicion  added 
thereto." 

"  Poverty  is  no  crime ;  but  carrying  off  pounds  of  but- 

12* 


138  DISCOVERING    A    LEAK. 

ter,  sugar,  and  flour,  not  to  mention  a  dozen  other  things, 
can  hardly  be  called  honest." 

"I  don't  believe  she  does  it,  Henry." 

"  It  will  be  more  agreeable  to  know  that  she  does  not, 
than  to  let  the  present  state  of  doubt  remain.  If  you 
don't  look  into  her  basket,  I  will." 

Not  a  long  time  passed  before  Mr.  Peabody  had  the  op 
portunity  he  desired.  A  little  earlier  than  usual,  he  came 
home  on  the  next  day ;  and,  just  as  he  reached  his  own 
door,  up  from  the  basement  area  came  the  old  woman  with 
the  basket.  Said  basket  had  a  dark  piece  of  woollen 
cloth,  or  baize,  covered  over  it,  and  was,  moreover,  partly 
concealed  under  the  woman's  cloak.  Nancy  had  come 
out  with  her,  and  stood  in  the  area.  Neither  of  them  saw 
Mr.  Peabody  at  first,  but  he  soon  manifested  presence ;  for 
the  moment  he  saw  the  woman,  he  stepped  up  to  her,  and 
drawing  the  covering  from  her  basket,  said — 

"  What  have  we  here  ?" 

Mr.  Peabody  spoke  in  a  quick,  stern  voice. 

Nancy,  the  moment  she  saw  what  he  had  done,  turned 
and  went  back  hurriedly  into  the  house  ;  the  woman  stood 
for  a  moment  with  a  face  of  dismay,  and  then  dropping 
the  basket,  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

"  I  thought  I'd  discover  the  leak,"  said  Mr.  Peabody, 
as  he  entered  his  wife's  room,  bearing  in  his  hand  the  old 
woman's  basket,  which,  on  examination,  was  found  to 
contain,  besides  various  other  articles,  the  following,  fully 
recognised  as  the  property  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Peabody : — 

One  pound  of  butter ;  about  a  pound  and  a  quarter  of 
loaf  sugar ;  three  links  of  sausage,  and  one  loaf  of  bread. 
Of  the  tea  and  coffee  in  papers,  the  freshly  cut  half-pound 
squares  of  soap,  the  nutmegs,  and  the  dozen  other  little 
matters  of  the  kind,  it  was  uncertain  whether  they  had 
been  abstracted  from  this  or  some  other  house  in  which  a 
leak  existed. 

Mrs.  Peabody  was  confounded;  and  so  was  Nancy, 
when  summoned  from  the  kitchen.  Of  course,  Nancy  had 
no  suspicion  that  the  old  woman  was  dishonest,  and  stoutly 
maintained  that  not  an  article  found  in  her  basket  had 
been  taken  from  Mrs.  Peabody's  kitchen. 

Rather  doubting  this,  with  so  much  evidence  before  her, 


DISCOVERING    A    LEAK.  139 

Mrs.  Peabody  had  the  resolution  to  dismiss  Nancy  on  the 
spot ;  and  the  act  was  effectual  in  stopping  the  leak. 
After  that,  butter  and  sugar  went  twice  as  far  as  before, 
and  the  next  quarterly  bill  for  groceries  reached  only  the 
sum  of  eighty-one  dollars. 

In  more  families  than  that  of  Mr.  Peabody  would  a 
leak  be  discovered,  if  old-women  visitors  to  the  kitchen, 
with  cloaks  and  baskets,  were  occasionally  overhauled. 
There  are  a  goodly  number  of  them  about,  and  the  way 
they  make  grocery  bills  run  up,  is  afflicting  to  a  man 
whose  purse  is  not  deep,  and  well  filled  with  Calif ornias 
at  that. 


THE  ELOPEMENT. 


man,  it  is  useless  to  urge  this  matter.  In 
declining  you  offer  of  an  alliance  with  my  family,  I  am  in 
earnest." 

"  I  am  not  content  with  a  simple  rejection  of  my  suit, 
Mr.  Carlton.  I  give  reasons  for  my  own  conduct,  and 
like  to  have  reasons  for  all  acts  affecting  myself.  Will 
you  say  why  I  am  not  deemed  worthy  to  claim  the  hand 
of  one  whose  heart  I  already  possess  ?  Is  not  my  family 
as  good  as  yours  ?" 

The  young  man  spoke  eagerly,  while  his  brows  were 
knit  and  his  eyes  firmly  fixed  on  those  of  the  person  he 
addressed. 

"  William,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  manifesting  a  good  deal 
of  excitement  as  he  spoke,  "  I  do  not  recognise  your  right 
to  demand  of  me  reasons  for  my  conduct.  I  will  say, 
however,  that  the  happiness  of  my  child  is  in  my  keeping 
as  a  natural  right,  and  I  am  bound  to  protect  her  in  every 
possible  way.  I  regard  only  her  happiness  when  I  decline 
the  offer  made  for  her  hand.  I  know  the  heart  of  Jessie 
well,  and  know  that,  if  committed  to  your  keeping,  it  will 
be  a  broken  heart  in  less  than  five  years — it  may  be  in 
less  than  one." 

"  I  love  your  daughter,  Mr.  Carlton,"  replied  the  young 
man  to  this.  "  Why  should  I  break  the  heart  of  one  I 
love?" 

"  William  Levering,  such  love  as  yours  falls  upon  the 
heart  as  a  blight,  not  a  blessing.     I  know  you  well,  your 
principles  and  your  life — both  are  bad." 
140 


The  Elopement 


141 


THE    ELOPEMENT.  143 

A  red  spot  burned  on  the  young  man's  cheek,  and  his 
eyes  flashed.  But  Mr.  Carlton  looked  calmly  at  him. 

"  Think,"  he  added ;  "  picture  to  yourself  one  of  your 
companions  in  vice  approaching  your  own  sister,  and  offer 
ing  the  love  of  his  corrupt  heart.  Would  you  not  step 
between,  abandoned  as  you  are,  and  risk  your  very  life, 
rather  than  permit  the  sacrifice?" 

"Mr.  Carlton,"  said  Levering,  "I  cannot  permit  you, 
nor  any  one  else,  to  insult  and  outrage  me  in  this  way." 

"As  you  like,"  returned  the  other,  coldly.  "You  ask 
reasons  for  my  conduct,  but  are  not  willing  to  hear  them." 

For  a  short  time,  there  was  silence,  the  young  man 
standing  in  an  attitude  of  irresolution.  Then  muttering 
something  in  an  under  tone,  he  retired  from  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Carlton. 

A  few  hours  afterward,  a  servant  tapped  softly  at  the 
chamber  door  of  Miss  Carlton,  the  young  lady  referred 
to  in  the  brief  conversation  just  given. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Philip  ?"  asked  Jessie,  as  she 
opened  the  door. 

The  servant  slipped  a  sealed  note  into  her  hand,  with 
an  air  of  secrecy,  and  then  retired. 

Quickly  re-entering  her  room,  and  turning  the  key, 
Jessie  broke  the  envelop  of  the  billet  she  had  received, 
and  read  what  was  written  within.  The  communication 
was  from  her  lover. 

"  I  have  seen  your  father,"  said  he,  "  as  you  so  earnestly 
desired,  and  the  result  of  the  interview  is  just  what  I 
expected.  He  was  not  content  with  an  angry  denial  of 
my  suit,  but  threw  me  off  with  smarting  insult.  He  says 
I  cannot  make  you  happy.  Heaven  knows  how  ardently 
I  desire  to  fill  your  cup  with  joy,  even  until  it  overrun 
the  brim.  If  the  passionate  love  of  a  sincere  heart  can 
make  you  happy,  Jessie,  then  your  whole  life  will  be 
blessed.  I  cannot  imagine  the  ground  of  his  dislike 
toward  me.  I  have  never  injured  him  nor  his.  This 
opposition  on  his  part  makes  me  wretched.  Are  we,  then, 
to  remain  ever  separate  ?  or  will  you  leave  all,  and  throw 
yourself  into  my  arms  ?  I  shall  await  your  answer  to 
this  in  the  wildest  impatience.  When  you  have  made 
up  your  mind,  place  your  answer  in  the  hands  of  Philip. 


144  THE    ELOPEMENT. 

He  will  keep  our  secret  inviolate ;  for  he  is  under  obliga 
tions  to  me  of  the  strongest  character." 

"  My  heart  is  wholly  yours,"  wrote  Jessie,  in  reply. 

"  Shall  heart  and  person  longer  be  separated  ?" 
answered  Levering.  "To-morrow  week,  I  hear,  your 
father  will  leave  home,  to  be  gone  several  days.  This  I 
learn  from  Philip.  What  better  opportunity  to  pass  from 
his  protection  to  mine  ?" 

Two  days  elapsed,  and  then  the  maiden  wrote — "  Let 
it  be,  as  you  desire." 

Weak  and  foolish  maiden  !  In  that  decision  how  much 
was  involved !  Not  the  happiness  of  a  day  or  year,  but, 
it  might  be,  of  a  whole  lifetime. 

What  Mr.  Carlton  had  said  to  Levering  of  his  princi 
ples  and  his  life,  was  true.  Both  were  bad,  and  very  bad. 
He  did  not  truly  love  Jessie,  for  of  that  he  was  incapable. 
No  man  who  lacks  virtue  can  love  a  woman  truly.  It  is 
a  moral  impossibility. 

Levering  had  first  turned  his  thoughts  to  marriage 
because  it  was  necessary,  as  he  said  to  himself,  to  form 
such  an  alliance.  He  belonged  to  a  wealthy  family,  and, 
by  marrying  into  a  family  of  equal  wealth  and  standing, 
he  would  take  proper  care  of  the  future.  Of  course,  he 
must  have  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  wife.  In  looking 
around  him,  no  one  struck  the  young  man's  fancy  so 
strongly  as  Jessie  Carlton :  and,  after  weighing  all  in 
favour  and  against  an  alliance  with  her  family,  decided 
to  storm  the  citadel  of  her  heart.  Handsome,  intelligent, 
and  with  a  good  address,  he  was  not  long  in  making  the 
impression  he  desired.  Jessie  Carlton's  young  heart  was 
quickly  won. 

Philip,  a  servant  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Carlton,  whom 
Levering  had  secured  to  his  interest,  was  informed  of  the 
intended  elopement,  and  employed  to  give  such  aid  as  his 
position  would  afford.  Of  course,  the  utmost  secrecy  was 
enjoined  upon  him ;  and  his  faithfulness  was  sought  to  be 
secured  by  threats  as  well  as  promises.  But  Philip  found 
it  hard  to  bear  up  alone  under  a  secret  of  such  great  im 
portance  ;  he  wanted  some  one  to  share  with  him  the 
heavy  burden.  So,  confiding  in  the  discretion  of  another 
servant  in  the  house,  a  female,  he  divulged  to  her,  after 


THE    ELOPEMENT.  145 

first  obtaining  her  promise  not  to  betray  what  he  was 
about  to  communicate,  the  fact  of  Jessie's  intended  flight. 

On  the  night  previous  to  the  day  on  which  Mr.  Carlton 
was  to  leave  home,  he  sat  up  late,  engaged  in  writing. 
It  was  past  eleven  o'clock,  when  there  was  a  light  tap  at 
his  door,  which  was  opened  immediately,  and  a  female 
servant  glided  in  noiselessly,  closing  softly  the  door  after 
her. 

"Well,  Hannah?"  said  he  in  a  voice  of  inquiry,  as  she 
approached  him,  in  a  somewhat  agitated  manner. 

Hannah  sank  into  a  chair,  so  much  disturbed  that  it 
was  some  moments  before  she  could  speak. 

"Mr.  Carlton,"  she  at  length  said,  "oh !  I  have  some 
thing  dreadful  to  tell  you." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Hannah,  speak  out  quickly,  then ! 
"What  has  happened?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carlton,  agitated 
in  turn. 

"  Nothing  has  happened  yet ;  but,  if  you  go  away  to 
morrow,  it  will  happen.  Oh,  sir,  do  not  go  away." 

"  Hannah,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Speak  out 
plainly  at  once." 

"  Miss  Jessie " 

"  Jessie  !     What  of  her  ?" 

"  She  is  going  off  with  Mr.  Levering." 

"When?  Where  is  she?"  The  father  was  on  his 
feet,  and  moving  toward  the  door.  "  Speak,  girl !" 

"  Oh,  sir,  don't  be  frightened,"  said  Hannah;  "it  isn't 
to-night.  Miss  Jessie  is  in  her  room.  I  have  only  come 
to  tell  you  about  it  in  time." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you,  my  faithful  Hannah." 

Mr.  Carlton  spoke  in  a  calmer  voice ;  and,  returning  to 
the  secretary  where  he  had  been  writing,  sat  down  again. 

"Now,"  he  added,  "tell  me  all  you  know  about  this 
matter." 

"All  I  know,"  replied  Hannah,  "I  got  to-day  from 
Philip.  He  told  me  that  he  has  been  carrying  letters 
from  Mr.  Levering  to  Jessie  and  back  again,  for  some 
time,  and  that  it  is  all  arranged  for  her  to  go  off  with 
him,  just  at  daylight,  the  morning  after  you  leave  home." 

"Can   it  be   possible?      Mad  girl!"    exclaimed  Mr. 

lo 


146  THE    ELOPEMENT. 

Carlton,  passionately.  "And  you  are  sure  of  all  this, 
Hannah?" 

"Philip  told  me,  and  I'm  afraid  it  is  all  true." 

"  Very  well,  Hannah.  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for 
this  act  of  duty.  You  have  saved  Jessie,  it  may  be,  from 
a  lifetime  of  misery.  Mr.  Levering  is  a  bad  man,  and  if 
she  marries  him,  he  will  make  her  wretched.  Foolish, 
foolish  girl !  Could  she  not  believe  her  father  ?" 

After  some  further  conference,  the  girl  left  the  room ; 
and  Mr.  Carlton,  closing  his  secretary,  walked  the  floor 
for  the  space  of  an  hour  ere  retiring.  On  the  next  day, 
greatly  to  the  surprise  of  Hannah,  he  left  home  at  the 
time  previously  appointed. 

No  sleep  weighed  down  the  eyelids  of  Jessie  Carlton, 
during  the  night  that  succeeded.  Through  the  long  hours 
that  intervened  from  the  time  the  family  retired  until  the 
hand  of  Aurora  gently  raised  the  curtain  of  darkness  from 
the  east,  she  either  walked  the  floor  of  her  chamber  or  lay 
wakeful  upon  the  bed.  At  early  dawn,  she  was  to  pass 
from  beneath  her  father's  roof  and  from  under  his  pro 
tection,  committing  unto  another  her  destiny.  Well  might 
her  heart  tremble  and  grow  faint  as  she  tried  to  look  into 
the  dark  future ;  well  might  she  shrink  back,  half  repent 
ant,  and  hesitate  about  the  step  she  had  resolved  to  take. 
The  silent  midnight  gives  to  the  wakeful  solemn  thoughts. 
Such  thoughts  came  to  Jessie ;  and,  as  the  winds  sighed 
through  the  trees  or  moaned  beneath  the  eaves,  it  seemed 
as  if  a  spirit  were  addressing  her  in  tones  of  warning. 

At  last,  a  feeble  line  of  light  was  seen  upon  the  horizon ; 
and  it  gradually  widened  until  the  dawn  appeared.  Hur 
riedly  throwing  a  shawl  around  her,  Jessie  stood  for  some 
minutes  near  the  window,  as  if  awaiting  an  expectant 
signal.  Presently,  a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  lock.  Si 
lently  crossing  the  room,  she  opened  the  door.  Philip 
stood  there  with  his  finger  on  his  lip. 

"  Is  all  right  ?"  asked  Jessie,  in  a  low,  agitated  whisper. 

"All  is  right,"  returned  the  man.  "Be  quick;  he  is 
waiting  for  you." 

Gliding  through  the  door,  Jessie  went  noiselessly  down 
stairs.  As  she  passed  into  the  open  air,  Levering  received 


THE    ELOPEMENT.  147 

her,  handing,  as  he  did  so,  a  purse  of  money  to  the 
treacherous  servant  as  his  promised  reward. 

A  few  minutes  prior  to  this,  a  scene  even  more  exciting 
took  place  a  short  distance  from  the  mansion  of  Mr. 
Carlton,  where  a  carriage  stood  in  waiting  for  the  fugitive. 
The  driver  had  left  his  box,  and  was  standing  near  his 
horses,  when,  suddenly,  a  man  was  by  his  side,  pistol  in 
hand,  uttering,  in  a  low,  peremptory  voice,  "  Silence,  and 
you  are  safe !" 

The  driver  started  back  a  few  paces  in  alarm ;  while 
the  stranger  who  had  presented  his  weapon,  kept  it  di 
rected  toward  him. 

"  Now  leave  these  grounds  as  quickly  as  you  can  go," 
said  the  intruder. 

The  driver  hesitated,  when  the  sharp  click  of  the  pistol- 
lock  was  heard. 

"  Go,  instantly!"  repeated  the  man.  "Your  horses 
and  carriage  are  safe.  You  will  find  them  at  the  Stag 
and  Hound  in  an  hour  from  this.  Now  go,  if  you  set  the 
value  of  a  hair  upon  your  life." 

The  driver,  by  this  time  thoroughly  alarmed,  fled.  As 
soon  as  he  had  left  the  ground,  the  stranger  mounted  the 
box  and  grasped  the  reins.  Hardly  had  he  taken  his 
place,  ere  Levering  and  Jessie  appeared,  and  hurriedly 
entered  the  carriage. 

"  Where  did  you  say  I  must  drive  ?"  inquired  the  man, 
leaning  over  from  the  box. 

"  To  Mr.  Liston's.  And  see  that  no  grass  grows 
beneath  your  horses'  feet." 

The  man  spoke  sharply  to  the  spirited  animals,  and 
away  they  dashed  at  full  speed.  Listen  was  a  minister, 
who  had  been  engaged  to  perform  the  marriage  service 
for  Levering  and  Jessie.  He  lived  in  the  town  which  lay 
a  short  distance  from  the  beautiful  country  residence  of 
Mr.  Carlton.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  horses  were  reined 
up  at  the  dwelling  of  the  minister,  when  Levering  sprang 
from  the  carriage,  and  lifting  Jessie,  as  she  attempted  to 
descend,  actually  bore  her  in  his  arms  across  the  pave 
ment  and  into  the  house.  Just  as  the  fugitives  dis 
appeared,  another  vehicle  drove  up  at  a  rapid  pace.  The 
self-constituted  driver  of  Levering's  carriage  left  his  own 


148  THE    ELOPEMENT. 

horses,  and  hurrying  to  the  door  of  the  second  carriage 
spoke  rapidly  a  few  words  to  some  one  within  ;  and  then 
turning  away  entered  the  minister's  house,  and  throwing 
off  his  rough  hat  and  coat  in  the  hall,  presented  the  figure 
of  a  well-dressed  gentleman.  For  a  few  moments  he 
stood  as  if  awaiting  some  one,  while  his  ear  was  bent 
toward  the  door  of  a  room  that  opened  from  the  passage, 
to  hear  what  was  going  on  within.  Then  he  placed  his 
hand  on  this  door,  and  gently  pushing  it  open,  entered. 
The  young  couple  were  already  on  the  floor;  and  the 
minister,  in  his  robes,  stood  before  them,  ready  to  begin 
the  ceremony.  So  softly  had  the  stranger  entered,  that 
no  one  perceived  his  presence  but  the  minister,  who  did 
not  permit  the  intrusion  to  interfere  with  what  he  was 
doing.  He  began,  and  progressed  until  he  came  to  that 
part  of  the  ceremony  in  which  it  is  demanded  of  those 
present,  to  show  cause  why  the  parties  about  to  be  joined 
in  holy  wedlock  cannot  lawfully  enter  that  state,  when 
the  door  of  the  room  was  thrown  suddenly  open,  and  a 
woman  rushed  in,  exclaiming,  "  I  forbid  this  marriage  !" 

"Who  are  you,  and  by  what  right  do  you  speak?'* 
inquired  the  minister,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

Levering  and  Jessie  started  at  this  unexpected  inter 
ruption  ;  and,  turning,  looked  in  astonishment  both  at  the 
woman  and  the  man. 

"Miss  Carlton,"  said  the  woman,  coming  up  to  Jessie 
and  grasping  her  arm,  "  you  have  no  right  to  this  man ; 
he  belongs  to  me  by  a  prior  claim,  that  I  will  not  see 
cancelled.  There  is  your  natural  protector" — and  she 
drew  her,  with  a  sudden  jerk,  across  the  room  toward  the 
man  who  had  entered  just  before  her — "  your  father. 
And,  in  heaven's  name,  let  not  a  man  like  this  tempt  you 
thus  madly  from  his  side  again  !" 

Jessie  scarcely  heard  the  closing  words  of  the  sentence. 
Overcome  by  so  dreadful  a  termination  of  her  elopement, 
she  sank  into  the  arms  of  her  father — for  it  was  he  who 
had  driven  her  to  the  minister's. 

Before  the  vile  companion  of  his  evil  hours,  Levering 
stood,  for  a  few  moments,  covered  with  shame  and 
confusion. 

"Now  go,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Carlton,  sternly,  as 


THE    ELOPEMENT.  140 

he  supported  the  form  of  his  child ;  "go  with  this  vile, 
unhappy  creature,  whom  you  have  reduced  from  virtue  to 
a  level  with  yourself.  Go,  consort  with  her  as  your  equal ; 
but  dream  not  again  of  an  alliance  with  the  pure  being  I 
have  saved  from  your  unhallowed  grasp.  She  can  never 
be  yours.  If,  before,  you  could  deceive  her  into  the 
belief  that  you  were  an  arxgel  of  light,  the  power  of  de 
ception  is  now  gone,  for  you  stand  before  her  in  all  your 
native  corruption  and  deformity.  Go,  sir !" 

Confounded  by  a  denouement  so  painful  and  humiliating, 
Levering,  as  soon  as  he  could  collect  his  bewildered  senses, 
sprung  from  the  room.  As  he  gained  the  open  air,  the 
driver  who  had  been  so  suddenly  deprived  of  his  carriage, 
came  up.  Levering  hurriedly  entered  the  vehicle,  ex 
claiming — "  Drive  me  home  !" 

The  man  needed  not  a  second  invitation  to  mount  his 
box.  Quick  as  thought,  he  had  the  reins  in  his  hands, 
and  the  horses  were  soon  springing  before  him  at  a  gallop. 

The  reader  doubtless  understands  all  this  without  further 
explanation ;  and  Levering  had  few  inquiries  to  make  ere 
he  comprehended  the  whole  affair  to  more  than  his  entire 
satisfaction.  As  for  Jessie,  she,  too,  understood  enough 
to  make  her  heart  sink  in  her  bosom  and  tremble,  when 
ever  she  thought  of  the  narrow  escape  she  had  made  from 
an  alliance  that  could  only  have  produced  wretchedness, 
if  it  would  not  have  borne  her  down  to  the  grave,  in  a 
few  short  years,  with  a  broken  heart. 


T11K   PROP  (-AMK. 


"  Coyy.  Laban  Loo."  said  tho  post-master  of  a  certain 
New  Jorsov,  situated  within  ton  miles  of  Phila 
delphia  —  "You  must   take  a  paper  this  year.      Row  can 
YOU  In  o,  man.  ••>..'      .        -1  news  '.  " 

"The  news!"  returned  Lee*  "Humph!  I  have  moro 
news  now  than  is  agreeable.  In  fact,  I  don't  believe  in 
veur  newsmonger-,  n  how.  Every  man  mind  his  own 

ss  —  that  is  my  motto." 

••  Yes.  but  friend  Loo.  it  is  of  interest  to  know  what  is 
troing  on  in  t'.  i 

"No  spooial  ir  What  do  I  care  about 

s  ooucerns?    It  won't  make  my  cows  give 
Ik   nor  mv  land  ^vow  more  bushels  to  the  aero." 


-I  a-  r.ot  s-      ireot'th:'.:." 

"Ain't  you?" 

"No." 

-\Vell.  I  am  then." 

••  TV.ore   are    t'ar:v.ers  whose   oows    sjivo   v.ore  milk  than 
vv-urs.  a:.',  w:    -^   land   v;.  otter  increase.     From 

>  your  advantage." 

••  h  .:  to  do  with  newspapers  ':" 

"A  great  deal.      1:  -.,"-,  ',r.    tanners  intonn  the  publio 
of    their    ncrieu'.tural    experin-.ents  :     and    give    the    now 

:.ods  by  whioh  they  obtain  large  yields  of  produce." 
••  Book-tarn,  c  .     i  \,  "..limed  Laban  Lee,  in  a  tone  of 
M  Never  believed  in  it;  and  never  expect  to. 
old  i  way  is  good  enough  tor  me.      In- 

and   e^\;;oin\T  —  that  is  ID  v  inoue.  and  1  teach  it 
150 


THE    DROP    GAME.  153 

daily  to  my  children.  Hand-work  is  worth  all  the  news 
papers  in  the  world." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  post-master. 
"  Hand- work  is  badly  off  without  head-work,  and  will  soon 
find  itself  in  the  rear." 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  anxious,"  said  Lee,  with  a  self- 
satisfied  air,  as  he  turned  off  and  went  on  his  way  toward 
the  city,  his  tubs  well  filled  with  butter,  and  his  wagon 
loaded  with  a  goodly  stock  of  poultry  and  fruit.  "  A  bird 
in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush," — he  kept  on  talking 
to  himself.  "  When  there  is  a  dollar  in  my  pocket,  I  know 
what  I've  got.  But  if  I  spend  it  for  a  newspaper,  what 
is  there  to  show  for  it  ?  I  never  knew  any  good  to  come 
of  taking  the  papers.  They  only  put  nonsense  into  the 
young  people's  heads,  and  make  them  think  themselves 
wiser  than  their  parents.  Dad !  and  they  shan't  come 
into  my  house." 

Laban  Lee,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  had  a  sordid  love 
of  money.  The  dollar  was  always  held  so  close  to  the 
axis  of  vision,  that  little  beyond  the  round  bright  coin  was 
ever  discernible.  By  hard  work,  industry  and  economy, 
he  had  gradually  gained  upon  the  world,  until  he  was  the 
owner  of  a  snug  piece  of  ground  covering  about  fifty  acres, 
well  stocked,  and  as  well  tilled  as  his  "  good  old-fashion 
ed"  way  of  farming  would  permit. 

The  over-careful  in  saving,  when  love  of  money  subdues 
almost  every  other  sentiment,  are  not  generally  over 
honest  in  getting.  The  every-one-for-himself  principle  of 
action  generally  leads  to  a  disregard  of  other's  interests, 
a  trespass  upon  other's  rights,  and  a  departure  from  truth 
in  dealing.  Into  these  defects  Laban  Lee  naturally  fell, 
as  many  a  citizen,  who  had  bought  tough  chickens,  bad 
butter,  and  spoiled  turkeys,  from  the  "  fair  and  honest 
countryman,"  could  testify.  Lee  knew  how  much  was 
gained  in  these  transactions ;  but  never  had  any  idea  of 
how  much  he  lost.  Far  oftener  than  any  of  his  custo 
mers  guessed,  his  butter,  or  at  least  a  carefully  arranged 
portion -contained  in  his  tubs,  lacked  several  ounces  of  the 
true  weight ;  and  more  than  once  had  he  come  near  losing 
a  goodly  number  thereof,  at  the  hands  of  the  Clerk  of  the 
Market.  Such  a  man  was  Laban  Lee. 


154  THE    DftOP    GAME. 

As  the  countryman  wended  his  way  toward  the  city,  his 
thoughts  were  busy  in  summing  up  the  probable  amount 
he  would  receive  for  the  contents  of  his  market-wagon ; 
yet  this  occupied  state  of  mind  did  not  keep  his  eyes  from 
resting  with  intelligent  discrimination  upon  the  road  he 
travelled.  Money,  and  articles  of  value  had  been  found 
by  others,  and  why  might  he  not  be  so  fortunate  ?  Such 
things  were  frequently  lost  by  the  careless.  The  idea  of 
restitution  never  occurred  to  him  ;  this  was  kept  obscured 
by  the  pleasurable  anticipation  of  gain,  as  the  finder  of 
lost  property.  Once,  and  only  once,  had  Laban  Lee  been 
fortunate.  On  a  certain  occasion  as  he  walked  along  the 
road,  he  espied,  a  short  distance  in  advance,  a  bright  ob 
ject  pa-rtially  concealed  in  the  sand.  Eagerly  he  sprung 
forward,  snatched  it  from  the  ground,  and  was  rewarded 
by  obtaining  half  a  dollar !  Small  as  the  sum  was,  to 
gain  it  thus,  awoke  in  his  mind  the  most  pleasing  sensa 
tions.  From  that  time,  whether  in  town  or  country,  few 
square  rods  of  earth  or  pavement  over  which  he  passed 
escaped  his  watchful  eyes. 

On  the  present  occasion,  notwithstanding  Lee  examined 
the  road  by  which  he  travelled  to  the  city  with  his  usual 
care,  no  treasure  was  found.  Better  fortune,  however, 
attended  him  on  the  day  following.  He  had  sold  out  his 
butter,  poultry,  and  fruit,  and  over  thirty  dollars  received 
in  exchange  therefor,  were  in  his  pocket.  Prices  had 
ranged  pretty  high,  and  the  farmer  felt  satisfied  with  his 
sales.  Just  as  he  was  preparing  to  leave,  the  sudden  ex 
clamation  of  a  man  by  his  side  startled  him,  and  turning 
quickly,  he  saw  a  gentlemanly  looking  stranger,  with  a 
well  filled  pocket-book  in  his  hand. 

"  Somebody's  dropped  this  !"  said  the  stranger,  address 
ing  Lee.  "And  it's  filled  with  money." 

The  farmer's  eyes  were  instantly  distended.  He  felt 
his  knees  tremble. 

"  Is  it  your's,  friend?"  inquired  the  stranger,  blandly. 

Lee  could  with  difficulty  refrain  from  saying  that  it 
was.  But  he  forced  out  the. words — 

"No  ;  I  believe  not." 

"What's  to  pay?"  half  carelessly  inquired  a  third 
party,  coming  up  at  this  moment. 


THE    DROP    GAME.  165 

"  Somebody's  lost  a  pocket-book,"  was  replied. 

"  Indeed  !  Much  money  in  it  ?" 

"It's  full.     See  there!" 

And  the  possessor  of  the  book  showed  the  folds  and 
edges  of  a  large  bundle  of  bank  bills. 

"  Gracious  me  !    What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  It's  not  mine.  Whoever 
lost  it  ought  to  have  it.  But,  as  I  am  a  stranger  in  the 
city,  and  shall  leave  in  an  hour,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  to  restore  it.  No  doubt  a  large  reward  will  be  offered 
for  its  recovery,  in  the  morning  papers.  What's  to  be 
done  ?  I'm  really  in  a  quandary." 

"You  ought  to  get  the  reward,"  said  the  second  comer. 
"For  you  are  the  finder." 

"True,"  replied  the  man.  "But  I  can't  possibly  re 
main  in  the  city  until  to-morrow.  To-night  must  see  me 
in  New  York." 

"If  you  choose  to  take  it,"  said  the  person  who  came 
up  last,  "  I  will  give  you  fifty  dollars  for  your  chance  in 
the  reward." 

"  Fifty  dollars,"  was  the  musing  reply.  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  about  that.  The  reward  will  doubtless  be  two 
or  three  hundred.  There  can't  be  less  than  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars  in  the  pocket-book.". 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  risk  more,"  was  the  half-indifferent 
response  to  this. 

The  possessor  of  the  pocket-book  seemed  irresolute  for 
some  moments. 

"  Well,"  he  at  length  said,  "  take  it.  But  I  think  you 
are  driving  on  me  a  very  hard  bargain." 

The  other  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  after 
feeling  about  there  for  some  moments,  said — 

"  That's  unfortunate  !  I've  left  my  pocket-book  at  the 
store.  But  come  with  me,  and  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars." 

"  Where  is  your  store  ?" 

"  On  the  wharf." 

"  Oh  dear !  No,  I'm  not  going  away  down  there." 
Then  turning  to  Laban  Lee,  the  stranger  said,  in  the 
most  insinuating  manner, 

"Why  can't  you  take  it,  friend?" 


iOO  THE    DROP    GA  \  tf. 

"Havn't  got  fifty  dollars,"  replied  Lee,  his  eyes  fairly 
gloating  on  the  pocket-book. 

"  How  much  have  you  ?" 

"  Only  thirty." 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You'd  better  come  down  to  my  store,  No.  — ,  South 
Wharves.  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars.  Or,  if  you  will 
take  our  friend's  thirty  dollars,  I  will  make  it  fifty  for  him 
the  moment  he  shows  himself  at  my  place  of  business." 

"  I  suppose  I  will  have  to  do  so,"  said  the  holder  of  the 
pocket-book,  in  a  changed,  sober,  and  rather  disappointed 
voice.  "  But  it  is  giving  up  a  large  advantage  for  a  mere 
trifle." 

Eagerly  Laban  Lee  drew  forth  his  thirty  dollars,  handed 
it  to  the  man,-  and  grasped  the  treasure. 

"  Come  down  to  No.  — ,  South  Wharves,"  sounded  in  his 
ears.  A  moment  after,  and  he  stood  alone,  yet  so  be 
wildered  that  all  his  ideas  were  in  a  whirl  of  confusion. 
Soon  a  calmer  state  followed.  He  crept  into  his  cart, 
and  there,  safe  from  prying  curiosity,  opened  the  pocket- 
book  in  order  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  the  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  and  to  debate  the  question  of  restora 
tion. 

Alas  !  From  what  a  height  of  imagination  down  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  pit  of  reality  did  Laban  Lee  soon  fall. 
Wrapped  around  by  three  or  four  one-dollar  counterfeit 
bills,  was  a  mass  of  soiled,  crumpled,  and  blotted  strips  of 
bank-note  paper ;  and  this  was  all  the  treasure  contained 
in  the  pocket-book ! 

No  wonder  that,  in  his  bitter  disappointment,  the  farmer 
groaned  aloud.  It  was  some  minutes  before  even  a  gleam 
of  light  broke  in  upon  the  darkness  that  enveloped  him. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  man  who  had  agreed  to  give  fifty 
dollars  for  the  pocket-book.  He  would  go  to  him  in 
stantly,  and  concealing  the  discovery  he  had  made,  get 
from  him  the  promised  sum,  and  thus  shift  the  loss  upon 
another. 

Of  course  he  did  not  find  the  individual  he  sought  at 
No.  — ,  South  Wharves.  He  was  the  victim,  and  this 
man  an  accomplice. 


THE    DROP    GAME.  157 

Two  days  afterward,  the  post-master  of  Lee's  village 
Baid  to  him — 

"Aha  !  So  the  drop-game  boys  have  been  trying  their 
hand  on  you." 

"  Drop  game  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?"  returned  Lee. 

"Listen."  The  post-master  drew  a  paper  from  his 
pocket  and  read.  "  i  Yesterday  a  farmer  from  New  Jer 
sey,  named  Lee,  was  silly  enough  to  pay  a  couple  of 
sharpers  thirty  dollars  for  a  pocket-book  which  they  pre 
tended  to  have  found.  Of  course,  this  Lee  doesn't  take 
the  newspapers,  or  he  never  could  have  fallen  into  a  snare 
that  has  been  so  often  exposed.  We  have  little  pity  for 
men  who  are  wilfully  ignorant.' ' 

Laban  Lee  turned  off  suddenly  and  walked  hurriedly 
away.  The  next  time  he  went  to  the  city,  he  ordered  a 
newspaper. 


LAB  AN  LEE'S  BUTTER  SPECULATION. 

WHAT   HE   GAINED   AND   LOST. 


MR.  LABAN  LEE,  after  his  "Drop  Game"  experience, 
was  a  sadder  man  than  before.  He  could  not  get  over 
the  loss  of  his  thirty  dollars.  It  troubled  him  night  and 
day. 

"  I  must  get  it  back,  somehow/'  said  the  farmer  to  him 
self,  at  length.  "  I  cannot  afford  to  lose  so  large  a  sum. 
To  think  that  I  should  have  been  so  swindled!" 

"I  must  get  it  back  somehow!"  It  was  full  three 
weeks,  from  the  memorable  pocket-book  day,  when  the 
mind  of  Laban  Lee  came  to  this  conclusion.  But  how 
was  he  to  get  it  back  ?  The  rogues  who  had  swindled 
him  were  not  at  all  likely  to  cross  his  path  again.  There 
was  no  hope  of  restitution  from  them.  But  Lee  had  no 
thought  of  this.  Then  how  was  he  to  get  back  the  money 
he  had  lost  ? 

By  cheating  somebody  out  of  it,  gentle  reader !  That 
is  speaking  out  the  plain  truth  in  plain  language.  He 
was  very  indignant  at  the  "drop-game"  gentlemen;  yet, 
even  while  his  indignation  burned  hotly,  he  meditated 
wrong  to  his  neighbour. 

When  men  have  the  desire  to  do  wrong,  a  suggestion 
of  the  means  is  very  sure  to  come.  At  the  very  moment 
when  Laban  Lee  said — "I  must  get  it  back,  somehow," 
he  was  standing  in  his  spring-house,  or  dairy,  holding  in 
his  hand  the  pound  weight  used  in  weighing  butter  for 
market.  The  round  piece  of  iron  out  of  which  this  was 
158 


BUTTER    SPECULATION.  161 

made  had,  originally,  weighed  less  than  a  pound,  but 
been  raised  to  the  legal  standard  by  the  insertion  of  a 
piece  of  lead,  in  a  small  indentation  on  the  underside. 
This  piece  of  lead,  which  weighed  some  three  ounces,  was 
loose,  thus  offering  a  temptation  for  its  removal.  And 
with  the  desire  to  get  back  his  lost  thirty  dollars,  by  fair 
or  foul  means,  came  to  the  mind  of  Lee  the  idea  of  pick 
ing  out  this  piece  of  lead,  and  thus  reducing  the  weight 
of  his  butter  so  many  ounces. 

No  sooner  thought  of  than  done.  The  lead  was 
stealthily  removed,  and  not  even  his  better  half,  who  con 
ducted  the  weighing  process,  knew  aught  of  the  matter. 

Just  fifty-four  pounds,  or,  rather,  "prints"  of  butter, 
had  Lee  in  his  tub  when  he  started  for  the  city  on  the 
next  market  day ;  and  yet  if  the  whole  of  this  butter  had 
been  placed  in  a  scale,  it  would  not  have  weighed  over 
forty-four  or  five  pounds. 

"If  I  come  through  safely,"  said  Lee,  to  himself,  as 
he  rode  along  toward  the  city,  "  I'll  get  back  about  three 
dollars  of  what  I  lost ;  and  the  same  thing,  ten  times  re 
peated,  will  put  me  even  with  the  world  again.  But" — 

The  other  view  of  the  case  was  too  unpleasant  for  con 
templation,  and  so  the  roguish  farmer  would  not  look  at  it. 

On  the  next  morning  Laban  Lee  took  his  place  in  the 
market,  with  his  tub  of  fresh  butter — and  good  butter  it 
was,  as  regards  quality.  On  the  top  were  several  prints 
of  full  weight ;  these  were  for  the  scales  of  the  market 
clerk  when  he  should  make  his  appearance,  and  were  very 
ingeniously  passed  over  by  the  farmer  in  making  sales. 

The  price  of  butter  was  pretty  well  up,  ranging  as  high 
as  thirty-five  cents.  And  at  this  rate  Lee  had  disposed 
of  six  or  eight  prints,  when  the  sudden  appearance  of  the 
clerk  of  the  market  made  his  heart  give  a  great  bound, 
sending  the  tell-tale  blood  instantly  to  his  face. 

"All  right  here,  of  course,"  said  the  clerk  pleasantly, 
as  he  looked  into  the  face  of  Lee. 

"  The  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating  of  it,"  re 
turned  the  farmer,  with  affected  confidence,  as  he  took 
a  lump  of  butter  from  his  tub.  His  eyes,  however, 
drooped  beneath  the  clerk's  gaze,  as  he  handed  it  to  him. 


162  BUTTER    SPECULATION. 

The  butter  was  placed  in  the  scale,  and  proved  to  be  good 
weight. 

-  Try  another  !"  said  Lee. 

The  clerk  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  a  second  lump, 
while  Lee  replaced  the  first  in  the  tub.  This  also  proved 
to  be  up  to  the  standard. 

A  third  came  out  right  also,  and,  but  for  something  in 
the  manner  of  Lee.  who  could  not  entirely  hide  his  uneasi 
ness,  the  clerk  would  have  passed  on.  satisfied  that  all 
was  right. 

The  fourth  lump  was  likewise  full  weight.  Up  to  this 
point  Lee  had  taken  the  butter  from  the  tub ;  but  now 
the  clerk  of  the  market  thrust  in  his  own  hand,  and  lo ! 
the  scale  in  which  he  placed  the  print  flew  upward. 

"Aha.  my  friend!  What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  transferred  the  lump  of  butter  to  a  basket, 
and  took  another  from  the  farmer's  tub. 

The  unhappy  farmer's  whole  manner  underwent  a  sud 
den  change,  and.  spite  of  an  effort  at  composure,  every 
attitude  and  expression  betrayed  his  guilt. 

The  next  print  of  butter  proved  light  also ;  the  next 
and  the  next ;  each  in  its  turn  passing  from  the  scale, 
forfeited,  to  the  clerk's  basket, 

"  At  your  old  tricks  again,  ha  !"  muttered  the  clerk. 

u  Tricks!"  exclaimed  Lee,  indignantly. 

But  the  clerk  kept  on  transferring  print  after  print 
from  the  tub  to  his  basket,  until  half  the  contents  of  the 
former  had  changed  places.  By  this  time  a  little  crowd 
began  to  gather  around.  Poor  Laban  Lee  !  He  felt,  as 
the  saying  is,  as  if  he  could  sink  into  the  earth. 

-  "What's  the  matter  here  ?"  would  ask  one  and  another, 
as  they  peered,  curiously,  at  the  imperturbable  clerk. 

-  Caught  in  the  very  act,  ha  !"  said  one. 

-Why,  friend  Lee!"  exclaimed  another,  in  whose 
familiar  voice  the  farmer  recognised  that  of  an  old  custo 
mer.  "  Who  would  have  thought  it  !" 

••  Yes  ;  who  would  have  thought  it  I"  chimed  in  another 
customer,  whose  table  had  for  months  smiled  with  the 
cheering  presence  of  Laban  Lee's  sweet  new  butter. 

••My  good  sir,"  cried  a  waggish  individual,  addressing 
Lee  in  a  grave  voice,  and  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  pair 


BUTTER    SPECULATION.  163 

of  ducks,  the  property  of  the  farmer, — "  as  this  man  takes 
so  large  a  lot  of  your  butter,  you  ought  to  throw  in  them 
ducks  into  the  bargain  !" 

This  was  too  much  for  poor  Lee.  With  an  angry 
exclamation  he  flung  himself  away  from  the  little  furious 
crowd,  and,  retreating  down  the  market-house  for  the  dis 
tance  of  three  or  four  stalls,  kept  out  of  the  way  until  the 
clerk  had  finished  his  work  of  confiscation,  which  covered 
forty  prints  of  butter.  On  his  return,  four  pound-prints 
only  remained  in  his  tub.  Lee  did  not  wait  to  sell  these, 
but  hastily  collecting  his  things  together,  withdrew  in 
deep  humiliation  and  chagrin. 

The  loss  and  gain  of  this  butter  speculation  was  sadly 
on  the  wrong  side.  There  was  not  only  loss  of  integrity, 
the  heaviest  loss  of  all,  but  loss  of  money.  He  had  hoped 
to  gain,  by  a  sacrifice  of  honesty,  the  paltry  sum  of  three 
dollars ;  he  had  made  the  fearful  sacrifice — fearful  in  the 
eternal  consequences  it  involved — and  not  only  lost  his 
honour,  but  four  times  the  amount  of  money  he  had  hoped 
to  gain.  This  was  the  loss  for  that  day ;  but  the  conse 
quence  of  his  sin  and  folly  did  not  stop  with  the  going 
down  of  the  sun.  When  next  market  day  came  round, 
Lee  could  not  muster  sufficient  courage  to  face  his  custo 
mers  ;  so  he  entrusted  fifty  pounds  of  butter — this  time 
full  weight,  and  a  little  over — to  a  neighbour,  not  more 
honest  in  heart  than  himself.  This  neighbour  found  the 
temptation  of  some  fifteen  dollars  in  his  pocket  more  than 
belonged  to  him,  rather  too  strong,  and  on  one  pretence 
or  another  omitted  to  pay  over.  In  fact,  he  had  heard, 
while  in  market,  the  story  of  Lee's  adventure  with  the 
clerk  of  the  market,  and,  as  he  turned  it  over  in  his  mind, 
came,  in  the  end,  to  the  conclusion  that  he  would  make  it 
work  to  his  own  advantage. 

Finding,  after  repeated  efforts  to  get  his  money  from 
this  unscrupulous  neighbour,  that  he  was  really  in  danger 
of  losing  the  proceeds  of  fifty  more  pounds  of  butter,  Lee 
said  to  him  rather  sharply — 

"  Look  here  !  I'm  not  going  to  stand  this.  Pay  me 
my  money  at  once,  or  I'll  expose  you  to  the  whole  neigh 
bourhood." 

"You  will !  will  you?"  coolly  returned  the  other. 


164  BUTTER    SPECULATION. 

"Yes;  I  will." 

"You'd  better  not." 

There  was  a  threat,  as  well  in  the  words  as  in  the 
manner  of  the  neighbour,  that  communicated  a  sensation 
of  uneasiness  to  the  feelings  of  Lee. 

"  Why  had  I  better  not  ?  ha  !" 

"  Try  it ;  and  you'll  find  out,"  was  retorted. 

"  I  will  try  it." 

"  Very  well ;  and  if,  before  three  hours  pass  over  your 
head,  the  whole  neighbourhood  is  not  made  acquainted 
with  a  certain  butter  speculation  of  yours,  I'm  very  much 
mistaken.  Ha  !  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  So  if  you're 
wise,  you'll  just  keep  your  tongue  between  your  teeth  so 
far  as  I'm  concerned." 

A  deep  crimson  mantled  the  face  of  Laban  Lee.  He 
tried,  for  a  moment  or  two,  to  collect  his  thoughts  for  a 
reply ;  but  finding  no  fit  words  in  which  to  answer,  he 
turned  suddenly  away,  and  walked  soberly  on  his  path 
homeward. 

"  Honesty  is  the  best  policy."  This  was  the  narrow, 
selfish,  self-protecting  trueism  that  forced  itself  upon  the 
thoughts  of  the  unhappy  farmer,  as  he  moved  along,  with 
his  eyes  cast  upon  the  ground;  and  he  resolved  from 
that  day  to  deal  in  strict  honesty  with  all  men,  as  the 
safest  and  best  way — best  for  mere  temporal  good ;  the 
mind  of  Laban  Lee  was  not  then  capable  of  appreciating 
any  higher  good.  But,  if  he  continues  to  be  honest,  even 
from  policy,  we  may  hope  that,  in  time,  he  will  see  the 
true  wisdom  of  being  honest  without  policy.  Until  then, 
he  cannot  be  truly  honest. 


,66 


The  Surprise  Party. 


THE  SURPRISE 


MR.  and  Mrs.  Atherton,  and  their  two  daughters, 
Helen  and  Alice,  were  sitting  one  evening  in  January 
enjoying  a  new  book,  which  one  of  the  latter  was  reading 
aloud,  when  a  ring  was  heard.  The  reader  paused,  and, 
for  a  few  moments,  they  remained  listening  and  expectant. 
A  servant  went  to  the  door. 

"  Are  the  ladies  at  home  ?"  was  heard  asked,  in  a  man's 
voice. 

Then  a  movement,  as  of  two  or  three  persons  entering, 
was  noticed. 

"  I  wonder  who  they  are  ?"  said  Alice. 

"  Some  one  has  gone  up  stairs,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ather 
ton,  who  had  been  listening.  "  You'd  better  go  and  see 
who  it  is,  Helen." 

The  daughter  was  about  rising  to  do  as  her  mother  had 
suggested,  when  one  of  the  parlour  doors  opened,  and  a 
young  gentleman,  dressed  with  great  care,  presented 
himself. 

"Mr.  A !  How  are  you  this  evening? — I'm  very 

happy  to  see  you !"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  advancing  to  meet 
the  young  man  and  welcoming  him  cordially. 

The  others  greeted  him  in  return,  and  he  then  took  a 
seat  among  them. 

"I'm  sure  some  person  went  up  stairs,"  said  Mrs. 
Atherton,  speaking  aside  to  Helen. 

"  True.  I  heard  them  plainly."  And  Helen  retired 
from  the  room.  As  she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairway 
in  the  passage,  she  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  a  light 
in  the  room  which  opened  from  the  first  landing,  and  to 

167 


168  THE    STJUPHISE    PARTY. 

perceive,  through  the  half-opened  door,  the  figures  of  two 
or  three  persons  moving  within.  She  went  up  quickly 
and  entered.  Three  young  girls,  intimate  acquaintances, 
were  there,  all  tastefully  dressed,  and  displaying  a  pro 
fusion  of  ornament. 

"  Why,  Anna  !— Jane  !— Cordelia !"  fell  from  the  lips 
of  Helen,  as  she  grasped  a  hand  of  each  in  succession  and 
exchanged  salutations.  Then  there  came  a  pause.  Helen's 
countenance  assumed  a  quick,  thoughtful  air ;  while  her 
young  visitors  were  full  of  life,  and  every  nerve  quivering 
in  anticipated  pleasure. 

"  Walk  down  into  the  parlour,"  said  Helen.  "Father, 
and  mother,  and  sister  are  there." 

As  they  were  leaving  the  room,  Helen's  eyes  rested 
upon  a  lamp  that  burned  upon  the  table.  It  was  a  small, 
fancy,  gilt  lamp,  and  had  never  before  been  seen  by  her. 
She  noted  the  fact,  but  her  mind  was  too  much  excited 
at  the  moment  to  reflect  upon  so  singular  a  circumstance. 

The  appearance  of  the  three  rather  elaborately  dressed 
young  ladies,  as  an  addition  to  the  family  party  below, 
very  naturally  created  some  surprise,  and  disturbed  the 
mental  equilibrium  of  those  in  the  parlour.  But  the 
Atherton's  were  well-bred  people,  and  not  easily  thrown 
off  of  their  guard  by  any  thing  mal-apropos.  The 
social  circle  widened  with  graceful  ease,  and  the  unex 
pected  visitors  of  the  evening  were  quickly  made  at  home. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  bell  rang  again, 
when  two  more  elegantly  dressed  young  ladies,  with  a 
male  attendant,  appeared.  They  were  also  intimate  ac 
quaintances,  and  joined  the  company  in  the  parlour  in 
that  familiar,  "  of  course"  kind  of  a  way,  that  mystified 
the  Athertons,  who,  by  this  time,  began  to  fear  that  some 
misunderstanding  had  taken  place,  likely  to  produce  un 
pleasant  and  mortifying  results.  But,  as  before  said,  they 
were  well-bred  people,  and  manifested  no  signs  of  dis 
comfiture  or  surprise. 

A  third  addition  of  this  kind  caused  Alice  and  Helen 
to  retreat  to  their  chamber,  in  order  to  give  some  little 
attention  to  their  toilet ;  and  Mrs.  Atherton  soon  followed 
their  example.  While  this  was  going  on,  the  bell  con 
tinued  to  ring  and  company  to  arrive  every  few  moments ; 


THE    SURPRISE    PARTY.  169 

and,  by  the  time  they  descended  again  to  the  parlours,  a 
party  of  between  twenty  and  thirty  were  assembled  there, 
most  of  them  particular  acquaintances,  and  all  perfectly 
at  home.  Additional  lights  were  now  ordered,  and  things 
made  to  correspond  as  perfectly  as  possible  with  the  sud 
denly  changed  order  of  affairs,  and  with  little  apparent 
hurry  and  no  apologies. 

A  family  council,  composed  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Atherton, 
and  Helen,  was  now  called,  in  order  to  fix  upon  some  con 
certed  action  in  so  strange  an  emergency. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  said  Mrs.  Atherton,  in  a  whisper, 
so  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

"  There  is  some  mistake,"  remarked  Mr.  Atherton, 
gravely. 

"  A  very  strange  kind  of  a  mistake.  We've  sent  out 
no  invitations  to  a  party." 

Mr.  Atherton  shook  his  head  and  compressed  his  lips. 

"  Somebody  has  taken  a  very  unwarrantable  liberty 
with  us,  I  fear,"  he  remarked.  "No  doubt,  all  of  these 
persons  have  received  regular  invitations  to  attend  a  party 
at  our  house  to-night,  and  are  here,  as  they  believe,  at  our 
instance." 

"  Is  it  possible  any  one  could  do  a  thing  like  that  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Atherton. 

"  Yes.  There  are  persons  who  take  a  strange  pleasure 
in  annoying  others  with  practical  jokes ;  and  the  greater 
the  annoyance  they  can  produce,  the  higher  is  their  gratifi 
cation.  To  some  one  of  our  friends,  who  seeks  enjoyment 
in  this  ungenerous  mode,  we  are  no  doubt  indebted  for  the 
affair  on  our  hands  this  evening.  I  can  only  say,  that  I 
have  particular  reasons  for  regretting  the  mode  he  has 
chosen  to  annoy  us.  But  as  our  friends  are  here,  inno 
cently,  we  must  not  only  do  our  best  to  entertain  them, 
but  avoid  the  slightest  intimation  that  they  were  not 
expected." 

In  this  all  agreed.  While  conversing,  the  bell  was  kept 
constantly  ringing,  and  party  after  party  of  guests 
arriving. 

"I  wonder  how  many  more  are  coming?"  remarked 
Mrs.  Atherton,  as  she  listened  to  a  mingling  of  several 

15 


170  THE    SURPRISE    PARTY. 

voices  in  the  passage,  after  the  street  door  had  been  again 
opened. 

"It  will  be  a  large  party,  without  doubt,"  replied  Mr. 
..Vtherton ;  "for  when  an  affair  of  this  kind  is  gotten  up, 
it  is  rarely  a  half-way  piece  of  work." 

"  We  will  have  to  procure  refreshments,"  said  Helen. 

"  Certainly.  The  company  are  here  upon  our  invita 
tion,  as  they  suppose,  and  we  must  give  them  a  suitable 
entertainment." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  provide  a  regular  supper,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Atherton. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  now  out  of  the  question.  We  shall  have 
to  confine  ourselves  principally  to  cake,  wine,  fruit,  and 
confectionery." 

"  And  make  a  pretty  liberal  order  for  that,  if  the  com 
pany  continues  to  assemble  much  longer  at  the  present 
rate,"  said  Mrs.  Atherton. 

Her  husband  did  not  answer  to  the  remark,  but  sup 
pressed  a  sigh  that  was  throwing  itself  involuntarily  from 
his  bosom. 

"We  must  decide  this  matter  soon,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Atherton. 

"  Yes.  In  half  an  hour  or  so  we  will  be  able  to  make 
some  estimate  of  what  will  be  wanted.  Then  I  will  send 
round  to  Parkinson  an  order  for  ice-cream,  cake,  and 
confectionery,  &c.,  for  a  party  of  a  given  number;  and 
to  our  grocer's  for  wine  and  fruits." 

This  and  other  little  matters  pertaining  to  the  enter 
tainment  being  settled,  they  returned  to  the  parlours  and 
rejoined  the  company.  As  Mr.  Atherton  was  entering 
the  rooms,  now  pretty  well  filled,  he  was  still  more  sur 
prised  than  he  had  yet  been,  to  hear  the  movement  of  a 
bow  across  the  strings  of  a  violin.  This  was  repeated 
three  or  four  times,  and  then  a  familiar  air  came  from  the 
instrument,  and  there  was  a  movement  in  concert  on  the 
floor.  In  other  words,  a  cotillon  had  been  formed ;  and 
when  Mr.  Atherton  was  able  to  take  a  survey  of  the 
rooms,  he  discovered  a  grinning  negro  fiddling  away  in 
one  corner,  and  the  obedient  dancers  threading  their  mazy 
circles  in  harmony  with  the  strains  he  was  drawing  forth. 

Here  was  a  new  and  not  so  easily  explained  feature  in 


THE    SURPRISE    PARTY.  171 

the  affair.  Who  had  ordered  the  music  ?  That  puzzled 
him.  But,  as  he  dwelt  upon  it,  light  came  in.  It  was 
only  one  of  the  harmonious  parts  in  the  practical  joke. 
The  individual  who  had  amused  himself  with  sending  in 
vitations  in  the  name  of  the  family,  had,  in  the  name  of 
the  family,  ordered  a  fiddler.  So  that,  after  a  little  re 
flection,  was  explained. 

Self-composed,  affable  and  attentive,  the  Athertons 
moved  amid  their  company  with  an  easy  familiarity,  so 
well  assumed  that  few  could  have  detected,  even  with 
close  observation,  the  restless  surprise  that  lay  beneath  all. 

About  nine  o'clock,  and  just  as  they  were  about  send 
ing  an  order  for  refreshments,  two  coloured  men  entered 
and  bore  a  large  basket  between  them  through  the  passage 
into  the  dining-room.  Here  they  made  themselves  per 
fectly  at  home.  The  tables  in  the  room  were  set  out, 
and  covered  with  cloths  which  they  had  brought  with 
them.  Upon  these  were  arranged  elegant  china  dishes, 
plates,  saucers,  &c.,  with  knives,  forks,  and  spoons. 

"Well,  I  am  confounded!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Atherton 
to  her  husband,  as  the  two  met  in  one  of  the  chambers 
above  for  further  consultation.  "  I  don't  know  what  to 
make  of  it." 

"Nor  do  I,"  returned  the  husband.  "I  confess  to 
being  entirely  puzzled." 

"It  is  plain  that  a  supper  has  been  ordered  by  some 
one." 

"Yes,  that  is  evident  enough." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  ask  some  questions  of  these 
coloured  waiters  who  have  taken  possession  of  the  dining- 
room,  without  so  much  as  saying  4by  your  leave  ?'" 

"No — no,"  replied  Mr.  Atherton;  "we  will  ask  no 
questions ;  that  would  betray  our  ignorance  and  surprise 
too  much." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  our  sending  for  refreshments." 

"None  at  all.  Instead  of  considering  ourselves  enter 
tainers,  we  may  as  well  place  ourselves  among  the  enter 
tained,  and  have  no  further  care  for  any  thing." 

And  so  the  Athertons  acted  from  that  time.  It  was 
in  vain  that  efforts  were  made,  through  the  most  careful 
enervation,  to  detect  the  master  of  ceremonies  in  this 


172  THE    SURPRISE    PARTY. 

singular  affair.  No  one  appeared  more  forward  than  the 
others ;  but  all  acted  in  such  perfect  concert,  that  it  was 
plain  to  Mr.  Atherton,  at  length,  that  some  general  under 
standing  existed  among  the  whole  party. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  one  of  the  strange  waiters  came  up 
to  Mr.  Atherton  and  announced  to  him  that  supper  was 
ready. 

"Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Atherton,  as  naturally  as  if 
he  had  ordered  the  supper  himself,  and  then  gave  notice 
to  the  company  to  pass  into  the  dining  room  for  refresh 
ments.  A  splendid  entertainment  had  been  provided, 
consisting  of  all  the  delicacies  served  up  on  such  occasions, 
both  light  and  substantial,  with  an  abundance  of  choice 
wines  and  rare  and  delicious  fruits. 

It  can  hardly  be  a  matter  of  wonder,  that  the  continued 
surprise  of  the  Athertons  took  away  all  appetite  for  the 
dainties  set  forth  in  such  tempting  profusion.  They  were 
active  and  attentive  to  all  during  the  gay  repast,  but 
partook  of  little  themselves. 

After  supper,  the  company  went  back  to  the  parlours. 
A  few  more  cotillons  were  danced,  and  then  they  all 
retired.  At  half-past  twelve  o'clock  the  Athertons  were 
alone.  The  waiters  who  brought  in  the  supper  had  re 
moved  every  thing,  leaving  scarcely  a  trace  behind  them. 

"  If  this  isn't  a  dream,  it's  the  strangest  waking  ad 
venture  in  social  life  that  I  have  ever  heard  of,"  said 
Mr.  Atherton. 

"  I'm  puzzled  entirely,"  added  Helen.  "  I  can't  under 
stand  it  at  all.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  Like 
father,  I'm  half  inclined  to  think  we  are  dreaming." 

"Who  could  have  gotten  up  the  affair,  and  carried  it 
through  so  adroitly?"  said  Mrs.  Atherton.  "I  tried,  all 
the  evening,  to  detect  some  one  a  little  more  officious 
than  the  rest,  but  was  not  able  to  do  so." 

"  It  was  well  managed,  to  say  the  least  of  it,"  remarked 
Mr.  Atherton ;  "  but  being  a  practical  joke,  the  enjoy 
ment  was  all  on  the  side  of  the  jokers — I  say  jokers,  for 
it  seems  to  me,  now,  that  it  was  a  concerted  thing ;  and 
that  all  present  understood  each  other  perfectly." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  exclaimed  Alice,  striking  her 
hands  together  in  sudden  surprise. 


THE    SURPRISE    PARTY.  173 

"  So  it  presents  itself  to  me." 

"You've  guessed  right,  without  doubt,"  said  Helen,  as 
a  light  went  over  her  face.  "  Now  I  can  understand  a 
good  deal  that  puzzled  me.  Well,  as  you  say,  it  was 
handsomely  managed." 

"  But,  as  I  said  still  further,  the  enjoyment  was  all  on 
one  side.  We  had  none  of  it,  I  believe." 

"  It  was  no  pleasure  to  me,"  remarked  Mrs.  Atherton, 
seriously.  "  My  heart  was  in  a  flutter  all  the  evening, 
and  it  required  a  constant  struggle  to  keep  my  real  feel 
ings  from  coming  into  manifestation." 

"  That  was  my  own  case,"  added  Helen.  "  Surprise 
took  away  all  rny  pleasure.  There  has  been  a  pressure 
on  my  bosom  all  the  evening,  and  I  am  still  unable  to 
breathe  freely." 

Alice  tried  to  express  what  she  felt  on  the  occasion, 
but  her  lips  quivered  and  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  Mr. 
Atherton,  seeing  this,  remarked — 

"  Ah,  well,  my  children,  let  us  try  and  forget  the  whole 
affair,  or  think  of  it  with  as  little  feeling  as  possible.  If 
it  has  given  others  pleasure,  let  us  be  content  with  that." 

"I  have  felt  a  sense  of  humiliation  all  the  evening," 
said  Alice,  who  recovered  immediately  her  self-possession. 
"  No  one  who  had  a  proper  respect  for  us  could  have 
committed  a  social  outrage  like  this — I  call  it  by  its  real 
name." 

"It  was  certainly  an  indelicate  invasion  of  a  man's 
household.  An  intrusion  within  the  family  circle  that 
nothing  can  justify,"  replied  Mr.  Atherton,  seriously. 
"And  Alice  suggests  truly,  that,  in  the  minds  of  the 
author  or  authors  of  the  affair,  there  must  have  been  a 
want  of  proper  respect  for  our  characters  and  position. 
This  is  self-evident.  I  have  felt  it  all  the  evening." 

"And  so  have  I,  most  keenly,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ather 
ton.  "  Suppose,"  she  added,  "that  we  had  just  received 
intelligence  of  the  death  of  a  near  relative,  or  were  in 
some  serious  trouble?  How  much  deeper  would  our 
affliction  or  trouble  have  been  felt!" 

"  Or  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  I  were  embarrassed 
in  business,  and  a  creditor  happened  to  go  by  and  dis 
cover  that  I  was  entertaining  a  large  and  gay  company, 

15* 


174  THE    SURPRISE    PARTY. 

would  it  not  prejudice  him  against  me,  and  put  me  in 
great  danger?" 

Mr.  Atherton  spoke  feelingly. 

"  It  was  wrong,  viewed  in  any  light,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Atherton.  "Wrong — wrong.  Pleasure  is  well  enough 
in  its  place ;  but  when  it  becomes  an  intruder,  and  boldly 
invades  the  family  circle,  the  act  is  nothing  less  than  an 
outrage." 

Such  was  the  state  of  mind  produced  in  the  family 
upon  which  had  been  played  off  the  practical  joke  of  a 
compulsory  party,  for  the  amusement  of  a  set  of  thought 
less  young  men  and  women,  whose  knowledge  of  human 
nature  was  too  limited  to  teach  them  a  decent  respect  for 
the  sacred  seclusion  of  the  home  circle. 

On  the  evening  of  the  party,  a  middle-aged  man  was 
passing  slowly  along  the  street  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Atherton's  residence.  The  sound  of  music  and  gay  voices 
fell  upon  his  ears,  and  he  paused  to  listen. 

uAh,  ha!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  moved  on 
again.  "A  party!  Yes — yes.  Well,  I  thought  he  had 
something  else  to  think  of  besides  parties.  And  I  sup 
pose  he  has.  But — extravagant  wife  and  daughters. 
Yes,  that's  the  secret.  Hum — m — m.  Well,  if  this  is 
the  game  to  be  played,  a  check-mate  had  better  come 
now,  than  when  there  are  only  a  few  pawns  on  the  board." 

And  thus  he  went  muttering  on  his  way. 

On  the  next  morning,  when  Mr.  Atherton  went  to  his 
store,  he  found  a  note  on  his  desk.  It  was  in  these 
words , — 

"DEAR  SIR  : — I  find,  on  reflection,  that  I  cannot  make 
the  arrangement  about  which  we  conversed  a  day  or  two 
ago.  Yours,  &c., 

D.  ADAMS." 

Mr.  Atherton  immediately  became  agitated.  The 
reason  is  soon  explained.  Two  or  three  heavy  losses  had 
crippled  him  in  business,  so  far  as  present  resources  were 
concerned,  and  he  had  applied  to  this  Adams  for  aid  in 
his  extremity.  Adams  had  the  fullest  confidence  in  Mr. 
Atherton,  and  at  once  determined  to  "put  him  through," 
as  he  expressed  it.  He  was  himself  a  large  creditor,  and 
had  already  partly  agreed  to  extend  his  own  notes,  as 


THE   SURPRISE   PARTY.  175 

well  as  to  make  liberal  loans.  But  he  had  suddenly,  and, 
to  Mr.  Atherton,  unaccountably  changed  his  mind.  The 
promised  arrangement  could  not  be  made. 

Fully  confiding  in  Adams,  Mr.  Atherton  had  sought 
aid  in  no  other  quarter.  No  wonder  that  he  was  agitated 
when  it  was  known  that  he  had  nothing  in  bank,  while 
notices  for  the  payment  of  over  five  thousand  dollars  in 
drafts  and  bills,  due  that  day,  were  lying  on  his  desk.  It 
took  nearly  an  hour  for  the  almost  paralyzed  mind  of  Mr. 
Atherton  to  come  back  to  its  usual  state  of  vigour  and 
activity.  At  first,  all  became  dark  and  hopeless  ;  for  he 
had  no  borrowing  facilities,  having  in  the  conduct  of  his 
business  always  preferred  keeping  it  within  his  own  con 
trol.  But  his  extremity  was  great,  and  it  would  not  do  to 
fold  his  hands  in  inactivity  and  let  swift  destruction  fall 
upon  him.  So,  after  a  good  deal  of  earnest  thought,  he 
went  to  work  with  some  spirit,  and  before  one  o'clock  was 
in  possession  of  the  required  amount  of  money.  In  ob 
taining  it,  however,  he  had  been  compelled  to  make  some 
heavy  sacrifices.  But  this  was  overcoming  only  the  first 
difficulty  in  a  way  crowded  with  impediments ;  and,  with 
each  succeeding  day,  he  found  himself  more  and  more 
embarrassed  and  crippled. 

About  a  week  subsequent  to  the  party  which  we  have 
described,  a  young  man  named  Bonnel,  who  bad  only  a 
short  time  before  commenced  business,  came  into  the 
store  of  Mr.  Adams,  and,  with  much  concern  in  his  face, 
said — 

"  Have  you  heard  about  Mr.  Atherton  ?" 

"Nothing  very  particular.     What's  the  matter?" 

"I'm  told  that  his  paper  was  laid  over  to-day." 

"Ah!  I'm  sorry,"  replied  Mr.  Adams,  evincing  much 
regret.  "But  it  is  what  I  have  expected." 

"  It  is  !  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  I  thought 
him  one  of  our  soundest  men." 

"  So  he  has  been.  But  he's  met  with  heavy  losses  of 
late." 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  that,"  said  Bonnel,  looking  very 
grave. 

"Why.     Does  he  owe  you ?" 

"  Yes.     I  sold  him  a  pretty  heavy  bill  week  before  last." 


176  THE   SURPRISE   PARTY. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that." 

"Do  you  think  it  will  be  a  bad  failure  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  have  always  had  great  confidence 
in  him;  but  that  has  become  slightly  impaired.  I  knew 
he  was  in  difficulties,  and  was  about  helping  him  through 
them,  when  a  circumstance  occurred  that  made  me  decline 
doing  so.  I  felt  that  there  would  be  too  much  risk.  The 
fact  is,  his  family  are  too  gay  and  extravagant." 

"  I  never  heard  that  charged  upon  them,"  said  Bonnel; 
"and  I  know  them  intimately." 

"It's  no  good  sign,"  replied  Adams,  "for  a  merchant, 
who  is  crippled  in  his  business  through  heavy  losses,  to 
indulge  in  large  and  costly  parties." 

"Atherton  has  not  done  so." 

"  Beg  your  pardon.  I  happen  to  know  that  a  large 
party  was  given  at  his  house  not  over  a  week  since.  I 
was  about  affording  him  all  the  assistance  he  needed; 
but,  when  I  saw  that,  I  felt  bound,  in  justice  to  myself, 
to  decline  an  arrangement  that  might  involve  me  in  loss." 

"And  was  that  your  only  reason  for  refusing  aid?" 
said  Bonnel,  in  surprise. 

"  It  caused  a  train  of  reflection  in  my  mind,  that  led 
naturally  to  the  decision  formed." 

"You  were  unjust  to  him,  Mr.  Adams,"  said  Bonnel, 
firmly. 

"  Show  me  my  error,"  was  calmly  replied. 

"  Mr.  Atherton  did  not  give  that  party." 

"It  was  at  his  house." 

"  No  matter.  He  had  no  more  to  do  with  getting  it 
up  than  you  had.  It  was  a  surprise  party." 

"And,  pray,  what  is  that?" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  surprise  party?" 

"Never." 

"  Indeed !  They're  quite  the  rage  this  winter.  The 
particular  friends  of  some  family  arrange  to  give  them,  or 
rather  compel  them  to  give  a  party.  They  fix  upon  the 
night — the  family  being  kept  in  total  ignorance  of  the 
fact — and  go,  with  their  own  music  and  refreshments, 
and  take  them  by  surprise.  The  greater  the  astonish 
ment  and  confusion  of  the  family,  the  greater  the  enjoy 
ment  of  those  who  go.  I  planned  the  party  at  Ather- 


THE   SURPRISE   PARTY.  177 

ton's;  and,  I  can  assure  you,  it  was  a  most  delightful 
affair." 

u  It  may  have  been  fun  to  you ;  but,  like  the  frogs  in 
the  fable,  it  was  death  to  them,"  said  Mr.  Adams,  seri 
ously. 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Bonnel. 

"  You  placed  them  in  a  false  position,  and  forced  upon 
them  the  disadvantage  of  a  wrong  judgment.  On  that 
very  day,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  put  Mr.  Atherton 
through.  He  had  fully  confided  to  me  his  difficulties, 
and  I  had  resolved  to  help  him  over  them.  But,  in  pass 
ing  his  house  at  night,  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  giving 
a  large  party.  For  a  man  in  his  position  to  indulge  in 
party-giving,  was  not  the  thing,  in  my  estimation.  It 
didn't  look  well.  Something  is  wrong  there,  said  I  to 
myself.  And  my  final  conclusion,  upon  which  I  acted, 
was  to  risk  nothing  with  him." 

"Can  this  be  possible?"  exclaimed  Bonnel,  exhibiting 
much  distress. 

"  It  is  true,  as  I  tell  you." 

"  I  did  not  dream  of  such  a  consequence.  It  was  but 
a  piece  of  innocent  sport  on  our  part,"  said  Bonnel. 

"It  was  a  liberty,"  replied  the  merchant  severely, 
"  for  which  there  is  no  excuse  on  any  ground.  I  can 
scarcely  conceive  of  a  greater  social  outrage  than  the  one 
you  have  indulged.  Suppose  intelligence  had  been  that 
day  received  of  the  death  of  a  near  relative;  or  some 
family  trouble  was  oppressing  the  minds  of  all ;  how 
greatly  would  your  untimely  sport  have  increased  the 
pain  they  were  suffering  !  Knowing,  as  I  do,  the  state 
of  Mr.  Atherton' s  mind  on  that  occasion,  I  can  well  under 
stand  how  rudely  jarred  it  must  have  been.  But  that  is 
nothing  to  the  disastrous  consequences  which  have  followed. 
Ruin  has  been  the  result.  An  hcnest  man  has  been 
stricken  down  in  the  midst  of  his  business  career." 

As  he  said  this,  he  turned  partly  away  from  Bonnel, 
who,  feeling  offended,  left  the  store. 

The  struggle  upon  which  Mr.  Atherton  entered,  proved 
too  much  for  him.  Alone,  he  could  not  contend  success 
fully  with  his  difficulties.  After  a  day  of  anxious  effort, 
he  found  himself  unable  to  meet  the  notes  and  drafts 


178  THE    SURPRISE    PARTY. 

which  fell  due,  and  the  hour  of  three  came  with  his  obliga 
tions  still  in  bank.  Up  to  that  time  he  had  been  in  a 
state  of  deep  distress  and  agitation.  But,  when  three 
strokes  upon  the  clock  sounded  the  knell  of  his  broken 
fortunes,  and  further  effort  was  vain,  a  calmness  fell  upon 
his  mind ;  and  he  awaited,  with  a  sort  of  stoicism,  the 
appearance  of  the  notary,  into  whose  hands  his  dis 
honoured  paper  would  be  given  for  protest.  The  notary 
came  and  went.  That  ordeal,  a  deeply  trying  one, 
was  passed.  His  reputation  as  a  merchant  was  now 
blasted.  The  apple  of  his  eye  had  been  touched.  But 
he  had  borne  the  pain  with  a  heroism  that  surprised  even 
himself. 

This  trial  past,  visions  of  future  meetings  with  credi 
tors  began  to  form  themselves  in  his  mind,  and  his 
sensitive  feelings  were  already  beginning  to  shrink 
painfully  in  anticipation,  when  he  saw  Mr.  Adams  enter 
his  store. 

"  I  am  told  that  your  paper  has  laid  over  to-day,"  said 
the  latter,  as  he  took  the  hand  of  Mr.  Atherton. 

"  You've  heard  aright.  The  notary  left  me  but  a  little 
while  ago." 

"  For  what  amount  have  you  been  noted  ?" 

"  Three  thousand  dollars." 

"  How  much  more  will  you  need  to  carry  you  through  ?" 

"Not  less  than  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Mr.  Atherton.  I  laboured  under 
a  false  impression  regarding  you,  when  I  declined  the 
arrangement  you  wished  to  make  a  week  ago.  Here  is 
the  money  you  need  to-day."  And  he  drew  forth  his 
pocket-book  as  he  spoke.  "  Get  your  paper  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  notary  before  he  can  protest  it.  To-morrow 
I  will  see  you  and  arrange  the  rest." 

On  the  next  day,  all  was  arranged  as  had  been  pro 
mised  ;  and  the  merchant,  who  had  been  on  the  very 
brink  of  ruin,  and  actually  falling  over,  was  saved. 

That  was  the  last  affair  of  the  kind  in  which  Bonnel 
ever  engaged ;  arid  the  last  inflicted  on  the  Athertons. 
It  had  like  to  have  proved  more  than  a  simple  Surprise 
Party  to  them. 


TAKING  CARE  OF  NUMBER  ONE. 


" EVERY  one  for  himself."  This  was  one  of  Lawrence 
Tilghman's  favourite  modes  of  expression.  And  it  will 
do  him  no  injustice  to  say,  that  he  usually  acted  up  to  the 
sentiment  in  his  business  transactions  and  social  inter 
course;  though  guardedly,  whenever  a  too  manifest 
exhibition  of  selfishness  was  likely  to  affect  him  in  the 
estimation  of  certain  parties  with  whom  he  wished  to 
stand  particularly  fair.  In  all  his  dealings,  this  maxim 
was  alone  regarded ;  and  he  was  never  satisfied  unless,  in 
bargaining,  he  secured  the  greater  advantage,  a  thing 
that  pretty  generally  occurred. 

There  resided  in  the  same  town  with  Tilghman — a 
western  town — a  certain  young  lady,  whose  father  owned 
a  large  amount  of  property.  She  was  his  only  child,  and 
would  fall  heir,  at  his  death,  to  all  his  wealth.  Of  course 
this  young  lady  had  attractions  that  were  felt  to  be  of  a 
most  weighty  character  by  certain  young  men  in  the  town, 
who  made  themselves  as  agreeable  to  her  as  possible. 
Among  these  was  Lawrence  Tilghman. 

"Larry,"  said  a  friend  to  him  one  day — they  had  been 
talking  about  the  young  lady — "it's  no  use  for  you  to 
play  the  agreeable  to  Helen  Walcot." 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  returned  Tilghman. 

"They  say  she's  engaged." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  a  young  man  in  Columbus." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"I  can't  mention  my  authority:  but  it's  good." 
16  181 


182  TAKING    CARE    OF    NUMBER    ONE. 

"  Engaged,  ha !  Well,  I'll  break  that  engagement,  if 
there's  any  virtue  in  trying." 

"You  will?" 

"  Certainly.  Helen  will  be  worth  a  plum  when  the  old 
man  her  father  dies;  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
handle  some  of  his  thousands." 

"  But  certainly,  Larry,  you  would  not  attempt  to  inter 
fere  with  a  marriage  contract?" 

"I  don't  believe  any  contract  exists,"  replied  the  young 
man.  "Anyhow,  while  a  lady  is  single,  I  regard  her  as 
in  the  market,  and  to  be  won  by  the  boldest." 

"Still,  we  should  have  some  respect  for  the  rights  of 
others." 

"Every  one  for  himself  in  this  world,"  replied  Tilgh- 
man.  "  That  is  my  motto.  If  you  don't  take  care  of 
yourself,  you'll  be  shoved  to  the  wall  in  double  quick 
time.  Long  ago,  I  resolved  to  put  some  forty  or  fifty 
thousand  dollars  between  myself  and  the  world  by 
marriage,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  I  will  not  let  this 
opportunity  slip  for  any  consideration.  Helen  must  be 
mine." 

Additional  evidence  of  the  fact  that  the  young  lady 
was  under  engagement  of  marriage  soon  came  to  the 
ears  of  Tilghman.  The  effect  was  to  produce  a  closer 
attention  on  his  part  to  Helen,  who,  greatly  to  his  uneasi 
ness,  did  not  seem  to  give  him  much  encouragement, 
although  she  always  treated  him  with  politeness  and 
attention  whenever  he  called  to  see  her.  But  it  was  not 
true,  as  Tilghman  had  heard,  that  Helen  was  engaged  to 
a  young  man  in  Columbus ;  though  it  was  true  that  she 
was  in  correspondence  with  a  gentleman  there  named 
Walker,  and  that  their  acquaintance  was  intimate,  and 
fast  approaching  a  lover-like  character. 

Still  she  was  not  indifferent  to  the  former,  and  as  he 
showed  so  strong  a  preference  for  her,  began  gradually 
to  feel  an  awakening  interest.  Tilghman  was  quick  to 
perceive  this,  and  it  greatly  elated  him.  In  the  exulta 
tion  of  his  feelings,  he  said  to  himself — 

"  I'll  show  this  Columbus  man  that  I'm  worth  a  dozen 
of  him.  The  boldest  wins  the  fair.  I  wouldn't  give 
much  for  his  engagement." 


TAKING    CARE    OF    NUMBER    ONE.  183 

Tilghman  was  a  merchant,  and  visited  the  East  twice 
every  year  for  the  purpose  of  buying  goods.  In  August, 
he  crossed  the  mountains  as  usual.  Some  men  when 
they  leave  home  and  go  among  strangers,  leave  all  the 
little  good  breeding  they  may  happen  to  have  had  behind 
them.  Such  a  man  was  Tilghman.  The  moment  he 
stepped  into  a  steamboat,  stage,  or  railroad  car,  the  every- 
one-for-himself  principle  by  which  he  was  governed, 
manifested  itself  in  all  its  naked  deformity,  and  it  was  at 
once  concluded  by  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  that, 
let  him  be  who  he  would,  he  was  no  gentleman. 

On  going  up  the  river  on  the  occasion  referred  to,  our 
gentleman  went  on  the  free-and-easy  principle,  as  was 
usual  with  him  when  in  public  conveyances ;  consulting 
his  own  inclinations  and  tastes  alone,  and  running  his 
elbows  into  any  and  everybody's  ribs  that  happened  to 
come  in  his  way.  He  was  generally  first  at  the  table 
when  the  bell  rang ;  and,  as  he  had  a  good  appetite, 
managed,  while  there,  to  secure  a  full  share  of  the  deli 
cacies  provided  for  the  company. 

"Every  one  for  himself,"  was  the  thought  in  his  mind 
on  these  occasions;  and  his  actions  fully  agreed  with  his 
thoughts. 

On  crossing  the  mountains  in  stages  (this  was  before  the 
railroad  from  Baltimore  to  Wheeling  was  completed)  as  far 
as  Cumberland,  his  greedy,  selfish,  and  sometimes  downright 
boorish  propensities  annoyed  his  fellow-passengers,  and 
particularly  a  young  man  of  quiet,  refined,  and  gentle 
manly  deportment,  who  could  not,  at  times,  help  showing 
the  disgust  he  felt.  Because  he  paid  his  half-dollar  for 
meals  at  the  taverns  on  the  way,  Tilghman  seemed  to 
feel  himself  licensed  to  gormandize  at  a  beastly  rate.  The 
moment  he  sat  down  to  the  table,  he  would  seize  eagerly 
upon  the  most  desirable  dish  near  him,  and  appropriate 
at  least  a  half,  if  not  two-thirds  of  what  it  contained,  re 
gardless  utterly  of  his  fellow-passengers.  Then  he  would 
call  for  the  next  most  desirable  dish,  if  he  could  not  reach 
it,  and  help  himself  after  a  like  liberal  fashion.  In  eating, 
he  seemed  more  like  a  hungry  dog,  in  his  eagerness,  than 
a  man  possessing  a  grain  of  decency.  When  the  time 
C'  me  to  part  company  with  him,  his  fellow-travellers 


184  TAKING    CARE    OF    NUMBER    ONE. 

rejoiced  at  being  rid  of  one  whose  utter  selfishness  filled 
them  with  disgust. 

In  Philadelphia  and  New  York,  where  Tilghman  felt 
that  he  was  altogether  unknown,  he  indulged  his  uncivi 
lized  propensities  to  their  full  extent.  At  one  of  the 
hotels,  just  before  leaving  New  York  to  return  to  Balti 
more,  and  there  take  the  cars  for  the  West  again,  he  met 
the  [foung  man  referred  to  as  a  travelling  companion,  and 
remarked  the  fact  that  he  recognised  and  frequently 
observed  him.  Under  this  observation,  as  it  seemed  to 
have  something  sinister  in  it,  Tilghman  felt,  at  times,  a 
little  uneasy,  and  at  the  hotel  table  rather  curbed  his 
greediness  when  this  individual  was  present. 

Finally  he  left  New  York  in  the  twelve  o'clock  boat, 
intending  to  pass  on  to  Baltimore  in  the  night  train  from 
Philadelphia,  and  experienced  a  sense  of  relief  in  getting 
rid  of  the  presence  of  one  who  appeared  to  know  him  and 
to  have  taken  a  prejudice  against  him.  As  the  boat  swept 
down  the  bay,  Tilghman  amused  himself  first  with  a  cigar 
on  the  forward  deck,  and  then  with  a  promenade  on  the 
upper  deck.  He  had  already  secured  his  dinner  ticket. 
When  the  fumes  of  roast  turkey  came  to  his  eager  sense, 
he  felt  "sharp  set"  enough  to  have  devoured  a  whole 
gobbler.  This  indication  of  the  approaching  meal  caused 
him  to  dive  down  below,  where  the  servants  were  busy  in 
preparing  the  table.  Here  he  walked  backward  and 
forward  for  about  half-an-hour  in  company  with  a  dozen 
others,  who,  like  himself,  meant  to  take  care  of  number 
one.  Then,  as  the  dishes  of  meat  began  to  come  in,  he 
thought  it  time  to  secure  a  good  place.  So,  after  taking 
careful  observation,  he  assumed  a  position,  with  folded 
arms,  opposite  a  desirable  dish,  and  awaited  the  comple 
tion  of  arrangements.  At  length  all  was  ready,  and  a 
waiter  struck  the  bell.  Instantly,  Tilghman  drew  forth  a 
chair,  and  had  the  glory  of  being  first  at  the  table.  He 
had  lifted  his  plate  and  just  cried,  as  he  turned  partly 
around — "  Here,  waiter  !  Bring  me  some  of  that  roast 
turkey.  A  side-bone  and  a  piece  of  the  breast" — when  a 
hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  clerk  of  the  boat 
said,  in  a  voice  of  authority — 


TAKING    CAKE    OF    NUMBER    ONE.  185 

"  Farther  down,  sir !  Farther  down !  We  want  these 
seats  for  ladies." 

Tilghman  hesitated. 

"Quick!  quick!"  urged  the  clerk. 

There  was  a  rustling  behind  him  of  ladies'  dresses,  and 
our  gentleman  felt  that  he  must  move.  In  his  eagerness 
to  secure  another  place,  he  stumbled  over  a  chair  and 
came  near  falling  prostrate.  At  length  he  brought  up  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  table. 

"Waiter!"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  had  found  a  new 
position — "waiter,  I  want  some  of  that  roast  turkey  !" 

The  waiter  did  not  hear,  or  was  too  busy  with  some  one 
else  to  hear. 

"  Waiter,  I  say !     Here  !     This  way  !" 

So  loudly  and  earnestly  was  this  uttered,  that  the  ob 
servation  of  every  one  at  that  end  of  the  table  was  attracted 
toward  the  young  man.  But  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
securing  his  provender.  At  length  he  received  his  turkey, 
when  he  ordered  certain  vegetables,  and  then  began  eating 
greedily,  while  his  eyes  were  every  moment  glancing  along 
the  table  to  see  what  else  there  was  to  tempt  his  palate. 

"Waiter!"  he  called,  ere  the  first  mouthful  was  fairly 
swallowed. 

The  waiter  came. 

"  Have  you  any  oyster  sauce  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Great  cooks  !  Turkey  without  oyster  sauce  !  Bring 
me  a  slice  of  ham." 

"Bottle  of  ale,  waiter,"  soon  after  issued  from  his  lips. 

The  ale  was  brought,  the  cork  drawn,  and  the  bottle 
set  beside  Tilghman,  who  in  his  haste,  poured  his  tumbler 
two-thirds  full  ere  the  contact  of  air  had  produced  effer 
vescence.  The  consequence  was  that  the  liquor  flowed 
suddenly  over  the  glass,  and  spread  its  creamy  foam  for 
the  space  of  four  or  five  inches  around.  Several  persons 
sitting  near  by  had  taken  more  interest  in  our  young 
gentleman,  who  was  looking  after  number  one,  than  in 
the  dinner  before  them ;  and,  when  this  little  incident 
occurred,  could  not  suppress  a  titter. 

Hearing  this,  Tilghman  became  suddenly  conscious  of 
the  ludicrous  figure  he  made,  and  glanced  quickly  from 

16* 


186  TAKING    CARE    OF    NUMBER    ONE. 

face  to  face.  The  first  countenance  his  eyes  rested  upon 
was  that  of  the  young  man  who  had  been  his  stage  com 
panion;  near  him  was  a  lady  who  had  thrown  back  her 
vail,  and  whom  he  instantly  recognised  as  Helen  Walcot ! 
She  it  was  who  stood  behind  him  when  the  clerk  ejected 
him  from  his  chair,  and  she  had  been  both  an  ear  and 
eye-witness  of  his  sayings  and  doings  since  he  dropped  into 
his  present  place  at  the  table.  So  much  had  his  conduct 
affected  her  with  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  that  she  could 
not  suppress  the  smile  that  curled  her  lips ;  a  smile  that 
was  felt  by  Tilghman  as  the  death-blow  to  all  hopes 
of  winning  her  for  his  bride.  With  the  subsidence  of 
these  hopes  went  his  appetite ;  and  with  that  he  went  also — 
that  is,  from  the  table,  without  so  much  as  waiting  for  the 
dessert.  On  the  forward  deck  he  ensconced  himself  until 
the  boat  reached  South  Amboy,  and  then  he  took  good 
care  not  to  push  his  way  into  the  ladies'  car,  a  species  of 
self-denial  to  which  he  was  not  accustomed. 

Six  months  afterward — he  did  not  venture  to  call  again 
on  Miss  Walcot — Tilghman  read  the  announcement  of 
the  young  lady's  marriage  to  a  Mr.  Walker,  and  not  long 
afterward  met  her  in  company  with  her  husband.  He 
proved  to  be  the  travelling  companion  who  had  been  so 
disgusted  with  his  boorish  conduct  when  on  his  last  trip 
to  the  East. 

Our  young  gentleman  has  behaved  himself  rather  better 
since  when  from  home;  and  we  trust  that  some  other 
young  gentlemen  who  are  too  much  in  the  habit  of  "  taking 
care  of  number  one"  when  they  are  among  strangers,  will 
be  warned  by  his  mortification,  and  cease  to  expose  them 
selves  to  the  ridicule  of  well-bred  people. 


THE  STREET  SMOKER. 


"  WHEW  !     This  is  terrible  !" 

"I'm  almost  suffocated !" 

"There!  That  ungentlemanly  fellow  has  puffed  hia 
vile  smoke  into  my  very  face. — Pah !" 

"See  with  what  an  air  he  moves  along  a  step  or  two  in 
advance  of  us.  He  feels  his  importance !" 

"He's  no  gentleman!" 

This  was  said  with  womanly  emphasis. 

"  Of  course  not.  A  gentleman  carefully  avoids  every 
thing  that  is  distasteful  or  offensive  to  others ;  and,  for 
this  reason,  he  would  no  more  smoke  in  the  street  than  he 
would  commit  any  other  outrage  upon  good  manners  and 
good  breeding." 

"And  this  is  Chestnut  street!  The  great  city  pro 
menade  !" 

"There!  Pah!  Isn't  it  shocking?  That  overgrown, 
dandy  negro,  aping  the  manners  of  his  white  compeers, 
coolly  blew  his  vile  smoke  into  my  face." 

"  Just  look  at  that  newsboy  !  Isn't  he  a  man  in  his  own 
estimation  !  With  what  a  dainty  air  he  removes  his  cigar 
from  between  his  lips — how  leisurely  the  smoke  curls 
about  his  dirty  face  and  uncombed  head !" 

"  This  is  Chestnut  Street  no  longer.  It  is  the  city's  great 
smoking  saloon." 

"Bell,  dear!  who  is  that  ?" 

Our  eyes  followed  the  indication  given  by  the  lady  to 
her  companion. 

"  Who  ?" — "That  young  man  in  advance  of  us." 

189 


190  THE    STREET    SMOKER. 

"  The  fellow  who  iust  puffed  his  smoke  in  our  faces  ?" — • 
"Yes." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  had  a  good  look  at 
his  face." 

"  I've  seen  him  before,  or  I'm  greatly  mistaken." 

"  Where  ?"— "  At  Hetty  G V 

"  It  can't  be  R ?"— "  I  think  it  is." 

"He's  a  gentleman."— "We  shall  soon  see." 

The  two  young  ladies  quickened  their  pace. 

"  It's  R ,  as  I  live  !"  we  heard,  in  a  low  exclamation. 

"  Hetty  shall  know  of  this." 

"Indeed  she  shall.  I  thought  I  perceived  the  vile 
odour  of  tobacco  on  his  clothes,  as  he  came  near  me,  when 
we  met  him  at  Hetty's  the  other  evening.  It  it  bad 
enough  for  a  young  man  to  use  the  nauseous  weed  in  pri 
vate  ;  but,  to  smoke  in  Chestnut  street — that  proves  his 
quality  !  Oh,  yes,  Hetty  shall  hear  of  this." 

"By  the  way,"  remarked  the  other,  with  a  good  deal 
of  sharp  sarcasm  in  her  voice,  as  they  fell  back  a  few 
paces  from  the  smoke — "what  a  high  manly  estimation 
of  himself  the  individual  must  have,  who  can  appear  in 
the  most  frequented  street  in  the  city,  with  a  burning  roll 
of  tobacco  between  his  lips,  from  which  he  draws  into  his 
mouth  a  quantity  of  smoke,  and  then  puffs  it  out  into 
people's  faces  who  cannot  but  be  annoyed  and  offended  at 
such  rude  and  ungentlemanly  conduct." 

"The  act  tells  the  story  for  such  individuals,"  was  the 


"We  need  not  trace  their  history  downwards." 
"You  are  right  there,  dear.     Right  there." 
We  heard  no  more  ;  but  we  had  heard  enough.     If  any 
thing  more  was  wanting  to  impress  us  with  a  deeper  sense 
of  the  nuisance  so  feelingly  spoken  against,  we  had  the 
argument    added   in   a   choking   mouthful  of  the  vilest 
smoke  that  ever  issued  from  the  mouth  of  a  cigar-puffing 
vagabond. 


THE  TEMPERATE  DRINKER. 


"COME,  Harry,  sign  the  pledge,  and  let  rum  alone!' 
said  a  young  man  to  his  friend.  "  Do  not  play  with  edged 
tools,  or  you  may  cut  yourself." 

"  1  'm  not  afraid,"  was  the  reply ;  and  Harry  tossed  his 
head  with  an  air  of  independent  confidence. 

"  You  ought  to  be,"  urged  his  friend.  "  Look  at  old 
Blake,  and  see  what  a  miserable  creature  he  has  become1? 
Even  I  can  recollect  when  he  was  industrious  and  respect 
able,  and  had  his  family  around  him.  Now  where  are 
they  1  Two  of  his  children,  the  youngest,  are  in  the  poor- 
house, —  the  rest  are  scattered,  and  his  wife  has  gone 
down  in  sorrow  to  her  grave." 

"  I  am  aware  of  all  that.     Why  do  you  allude  to  it  1" 
"  Blake  was  once  a  sober  man." 

"I  don't  know  when.  Even  at  the  time  when  he  had 
his  family  around  him,  and  was  in  prosperous  circum 
stances,  he  drank  like  a  fish." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  was  born  a  drunkard?" 
"  No,  of  course  not.     But  I  mean,  that  he  has  always, 
since  he  drank  at  all,  used  liquor  immoderately." 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  immoderately  1" 
"  Oh,  as  to  that,  freely  enough  to  confuse  his  mind." 
"  But  I  have  heard  my  father  say,  that,  when  a  young 
man,  Mr.  Blake  was  very  temperate,  rarely  drinking  any 
kind  of  liquor." 

"  That  may  be.  But  when  he  took  to  drinking,  he 
went  beyond  the  bounds  of  moderation." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  But  you  don't  suppose 
that  he  took  to  drinking  immoderately  at  once  ?" 

*'  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  process  by  which  he 
became  a  drunkard.  Very  certain  I  am,  that  if  he  had 
not  made  an  improper  use  of  liquor,  he  would  never  hava 
been  the  miserable  wretch  he  is  now." 

(191) 


192  THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER. 

"  You  never  said  a  truer  word  than  that,  Harry.  But 
now  the  question  comes  up,  what  is  a  proper  use  of 
liquor?  Will  you  answer  me  that  question?" 

"  A  proper  use  of  it  is  to  drink  it  temperately,  when 
you  feel  the  need  of  a  little  stimulus." 

"  Exactly  what  Blake  himself  would  say  were  he  now 
present— except  that  he  would  not  probably  use  the  word 
temperately." 

"  And  yet  that  word  makes  the  important  difference." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  temperately,  Harry  1" 

"  I  mean  moderately.  Or  in  quantities  so  small  as  not 
to  produce  intoxication." 

"  How  often  ought  this  moderate  portion  to  be  taken  ? 
Oh,  I  recollect  now, — You  said  that  it  should  be  taken 
whenever  the  need  is  felt  of  a  little  stimulus.  Now,  sup 
pose  this  need  is  felt  twice  in  the  day,  would  that  be  too 
often  to  take  a  little  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  take  a  glass  at  least  twice  a 
day,  and  sometimes  as  often  again." 

"You  do?" 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

"  The  time  has  been,  I  suppose,  when  you  didn't  take 
more  than  a  single  glass  a  day." 

"Yes.  But  it  was,  I  believe,  because  I  couldn't  get 
any  more." 

"  At  least,  you  drink  more  frequently  now  than  you  did 
a  year  ago  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  do." 

"How  do  you  account  for  that?" 

"On  the  principle  that  I  can  bear  more  now  than  I 
could  then.  The  habitual  use  of  an  arm  makes  it  stronger 
— so  does  the  habitual  drinking  of  liquors  make  the  nerves 
able  to  bear  more  powerful  stimulants." 

"Are  you  not  afraid,  Harry,  to  practise  upon  such  a 
principle  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  that  the  habit  will  grow 
upon  you,  until,  before  you  are  aware,  it  has  obtained  the 
mastery  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !    Not  I !    I  know  myself  too  well." 

Depend  upon  it,  you  are  on  dangerous  ground,"  the 
friend  urged.  "  Facts,  innumerable,  prove,  that  no  one 
becomes  a  drunkard  suddenly  —  that  no  drunkard  ever 
intended  to  become  a  slave  to  the  love  of  strong  drink  " 


THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER.  193 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  I  have  no  fears.  I  have  always 
been  a  temperate  drinker,  am  one  now,  and  intend  re 
maining  one  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Will  you  go  to  a  temperance  meeting  with  me  to 
night,  Harry  ?"  his  friend  asked,  after  the  silence  of  a  few 
moments. 

"What  for?" 

"  A  very  popular  lecturer  is  going  to  speak.  I  think 
he  would  interest  you." 

"  I  don't  see  very  clearly  how  I  am  to  be  interested  in 
a  dry  temperance  lecture." 

"  You  may  not  find  it  quite  so  dry  as  you  imagine. 
Indeed,  from  what  I  have  heard  of  this  man,  who  is  said 
to  be  one  of  your  rough-hewn,  strong,  original  thinkers, 
I  am  pretty  certain  that  you  will  not  fail  to  be  highly 
interested.  He  has,  himself,  felt  in  his  own  person,  all 
the  horrors  of  drunkenness  ;  and  can,  therefore,  and  does, 
speak  strongly  and  feelingly." 

"  One  of  your  reformed  drunkards  ?" 

"  Yes.  Did  you  ever  hear  one  of  them  make  an  ad 
dress,  or  relate  an  experience?" 

"No." 

"  Then  come  to-night  by  all  means.  It  will  be  a  treat 
for  you." 

Henry  Ellis,  that  was  the  young  man's  name,  promised, 
after  a  little  further  persuasion,  that  he  would  attend  the 
meeting — though  he  still  thought  that  it  would  be  an  even 
ing  poorly  spent.  Accordingly,  at  the  time  appointed,  he 
entered  the  hall  where  the  meeting  was  to  be  held,  and 
took  a  seat  in  front  of  the  stand.  After  the  preliminaries 
of  the  meeting  were  over,  a  short,  stout,  hard-featured 
man  arose  to  address  the  audience. 

"  Rough-hewn,  sure  enough !"  Ellis  muttered  to  him 
self —  "  and  no  doubt  original  enough.  Well,  perhaps  I 
may  hear  something  worth  laughing  at.  Let  us  see." 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  began  the  speaker,  in  an  easy, 
familiar,  off-hand  style, — "  You  want  me  to  make  a  speech 
for  you,  and  I  suppose  I  must  do  it.  It  will  be  rough, 
but  to  the  point,  and  if  I  hit  some  of  you  pretty  hard,  you 
musn't  get  angry.  I  never  could  get  along  by  whipping 
the  devil  round  the  stump.  It  must  be  face  to  face,  arm's 
•length,  or  not  at  all.  I  Ve  spoken  every  night  for  the 

17 


194  THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER. 

past  week,  in  the  different  villages,  round  about,  upon  all 
kinds  ot  subjects.  I  've  put  it  to  the  distillers  hard,  I  tell 
you.  One  man  swore  that  he  would  shoot  me.  But  I  'm 
not  afraid.  My  cause  is  a  good  one,  and  if  I  maintain  it 
manfully,  it  will  bear  me  on  safely  to  the  end  —  leaving 
not  even  the  smell  of  fire  upon  my  garments.  Next  I 
walked  into  the  rum-sellers  like  a  thousand  of  bricks,  and 
made  them  flutter  like  hens  in  a  barn-yard  with  a  hawk 
over  their  heads.  It  touches  their  pockets,  this  temper 
ance  movement,  and  stains  their  respectability — so  it  does; 
and  they  can't  bear  it.  They  find  that  their  rum-built 
palaces,  and  money  wrung  from  worse  than  widows  and 
orphans,  do  not  now  give  them  the  standing  in  society 
that  they  once  had.  The  people's  eyes  are  opened,  and 
they  see  plainly ;  and  seeing  plainly,  they  call  things  by 
their  right  names,  and  estimate  by  a  truer  standard. 

"  Having,  therefore,  curried  off  and  rubbed  down  the 
distiller  and  the  rum-sellers,  and  charged  home  upon  them 
the  responsibility  of  *  drunkard-making ;'  I  must  now  turn 
my  attention  to  a  class  of  the  community  who  have  quite 
as  much  to  do  with  '  drunkard-making/  Who  are  they  ? 
you  ask.  I  will  tell  you.  They  are  the  temperate  drink 
ers.  Some  of  you  look  surprised  —  prick  up  your  ears 
and  become  all  attention.  It 's  a  fact,  I  can  tell  you,  and 
I  '11  make  it  as  plain  to  you  as  that  two  and  two  make 
four.  Answer  me  this  question.  Would  there  be  a  single 
drunkard  to-day,  if  there  had  not  been  moderate  drinkers 
a  few  years  ago  ?  No,  of  course  not.  The  moderate 
drinker  is  the  blossom  —  the  drunkard  the  fruit.  Or,  to 
give  you  something  more  striking,  I  will  use  the  language 
of  a  brother  lecturer.  The  difference,  says  he,  between 
a  temperate  drinker,  and  a  drunkard,  is  the  same  as 
between  a  pig  and  a  hog.  The  pig  is  a  pretty  fair  begin 
ning  of  a  hog,  and  the  temperate  drinker  a  pretty  fair 
beginning  of  a  drunkard.  You  can  no  more  have  a 
drunkard  without  a  moderate  drinker,  than  you  can  have 
a  hog  without  a  pig.  This  is  plain  talk,  my  friends,  and 
some  will  call  it  extremely  vulgar  —  especially  if  it  hits 
them  a  little  hard.  No  doubt  it  is  very  vulgar  and  unre 
fined  to  say  pig  and  hog.  The  eating  of  '  them  ere'  ani 
mals  is  quite  genteel ;  but  to  name  them  is  shocking. 
Well,  perhaps  it  is.  But  we  can't  help  it.  Homely  illus- 


THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER.  195 

trations  are  generally  the  most  forcible,  because  their 
truth  is  less  clothed,  and  consequently  more  apparent. 

"  Now  I  hope  you  all  understand  the  position  I  take. 
And  you  all  see  that  a  weighty  responsibility  rests  upon 
the  moderate  drinker;  for  without  his  co-operation,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  all  the  distillers  and  rum-sellers 
in  the  world  to  make  a  single  drunkard.  He  may  answer 
me,  that  if  the  responsibility  does  rest  upon  him,  it  is  a 
responsibility  that  affects  none  but  himself.  Let  me  beg 
your  pardon,  my  friend.  I  assume  that  you  will  become 
a  drunkard,  which  is  a  very  natural  inference,  as  you  are 
in  the  only  possible  road  leading  to  that  wretched  state. 
Well,  you  have  passed  the  point,  up  to  which  you  were 
fully  able  to  control  yourself,  and  are  now  a  passive  slave 
in  the  hands  of  the  most  heartless,  inhuman  tyrant,  that 
ever  cursed  the  earth.  You  are  married.  The  gentle 
maiden  who  won  your  heart's  first  and  best  affections, 
became,  years  ago,  your  wife ;  and  around  you  are  clus 
tered  the  sweet  pledges  of  early  love.  Will  not  these  be 
affected  by  your  fall '(  Answer  me  that !  Let  me  relate 
what  I  have  myself  seen.  It  is  notnade-up  story.  Around 
it  are  clustered  no  scenes  of  imaginary  woe.  It  is  truth 
—  truth  unadorned,  but  with  a  power  to  reach  the  heart 
that  no  mere  fiction  can  ever  claim." 

The  lecturer  here  seemed  to  be  affected,  and  paused 
for  a  few  moments.  When  he  again  commenced  speak 
ing,  it  was  in  a  changed  tone,  low,  distinct,  and  fuH  of 
touching  pathos.  It  was  nature's  eloquence  —  the  elo 
quence  of  the  heart,  that  now  fell  from  his  tongue. 

"  In  giving  the  history  which  I  am  about  to  relate,  I 
had  intended  to  speak  in  the  third  person,"  he  said  ;  '*  but 
the  recollection  of  some  things  has  so  touched  my  feel 
ings,  that  I  cannot  go  on,  unless  I  speak  of  them  as  they 
were,  and  of  myself  as  the  principal  actor. 

"  I  was,  my  friends,  in  early  years,  a  temperate  drinker 
as  were  most  of  those  around  me.  I  took  my  glass,  re 
gularly,  every  day,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  thought 
nothing  of  it.  At  twenty-three  I  became  attached  to  a 
gentle,  affectionate  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring 
farmer,  for  whom  my  love  steadily  increased,  until  it 
seemed  as  if  I  would  at  any  time  have  laid  down  my  life 
for  her  This  earnest  affection  was  returned.  At  twenty- 


196  THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER. 

four  I  married  her.  An  old  man,  considered  by  most  in 
the  village  as  eccentric,  because,  I  believe,  he  rigidly  re 
fused  to  drink  any  kind  of  intoxicating  liquor,  met  me  on 
the  next  day. 

"  *  Good  morning,  Henry,'  he  said,  extending  his  hand, 
while  a  benevolent  smile  lit  up  his  venerable  face.  '  Most 
sincerely  do  I  congratulate  you  on  your  marriage  with 
Hetty  Wilkins.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy.  From  a 
child  1  have  known  and  loved  Hetty,  and  that  love  has 
grown  warmer  every  day.  This  interest  which  I  feel  in 
both  her  and  you,  makes  me  free  to  whisper  one  warning 
in  your  ear,  Henry — to  caution  you  against  the  only  dan 
ger  that  it  seems  to  me  can  possibly  wreck  your  happiness. 
May  I  speak  freely  V 

" « To  me,  certainly  !'  I  replied,  wondering  within  my 
self  what  he  could  possibly  mean.' 

"  '  The  only  danger,  then,  Henry,'  he  said,  '  lies,  I  be 
lieve,  in  your  unwisely  indulging  in  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits.' 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  surprised  I  was  at  this.  At 
first,  I  felt  half  angry  with  my  aged  friend  ;  but  this  feel 
ing  passed  away,  as  I  thought  of  his  eccentricity. 

"You  are  certainly  jesting  with  me,' I  said;  'or  else 
are  under  some  strange  mistake  about  my  habits.  I  do 
not  drink  to  excess.' 

" '  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that,  Henry,'  was  his  seri 
ous  reply.  '  I  know  that  few  young  men  in  this  neigh 
bourhood  indulge  less  than  you  do.  But  the  danger  lies 
in  the  fact  of  your  using  liquor  at  all.  It  does  you  no 
good.  Cut  it  off,  then,  Henry,  and  your  happiness,  and 
that  of  your  young  wife,  are  beyond  the  reach  of  danger/ 

"  *  I  have  perfect  control  over  myself,'  I  urged. 

" '  Of  that,  I  am  assured,'  he  said.  '  But  I  have  heard 
many  say  the  same  in  my  time,  who  now  lie  in  drunkard's 
graves,  and  their  children  have  found  a  home  in  the  alms- 
houses,  or  in  asylums  for  destitute  orphans.  Had  they 
done  as  I  now  wish  you  to  do,  all  this  degradation  and 
misery  would  have  been  saved.' 

"  This  conversation  fully  determined  me  not  to  abandon 
the  use  of  liquor.  To  have  done  so,  would  have  been 
admitting  to  myself  and  others  that  there  was  a  danger 
of  my  becoming  that  miserable  being,  a  drunkard.  The 


THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER.  197 

very  idea  was  a  disgrace,  and  I  rejected  it  with  con 
tempt. 

"  Alas !  alas !  The  fears  of  my  friend  were  prophetic. 
In  ten  years  from  that  day,  with  five  neglected  children, 
and  a  heart-broken  wife,  I  turned  away  from  the  com 
fortless  tenement  that  had  for  a  few  months  sheltered  us, 
houseless  and  homeless?" 

Low,  mournful  and  tremulous  was  the  voice  of  tne 
speaker,  as  he  uttered  these  words!  And  then  followed  a 
long,  breathless  pause,  in  which  each  one  of  his  hearers 
could  hear  the  laboured  pulsations  of  his  own  heart. 

"  I  can  say  but  little  more,"  he  at  length  resumed. 
"The  recollections  of  that  day  —  of  wretched  days 
for  my  wife  and  children,  that  went  before,  and  that 
followed  after,  have  touched  my  feelings  more  deeply 
than  I  had  expected.  Thank  Heaven !  those  days  are 
past  for  them  and  me.  There  is  fire  on  our  hearth,  and 
sunshine  in  our  dwelling.  Young  man !  Temperate 
drinker !  Despise  not  the  warnings  of  experience.  What 
has  happened  to  me,  may  happen  to  you.  You  cannot 
now  feel  more  secure  in  your  resolution  than  I  did,  then, 
in  mine.  I  fell :  so  may  you.  Let  me  entreat  you,  neither 
to  touch,  taste,  nor  handle  the  accursed  thing.  For  the 
sake  of  her,  towards  whom  your  earliest  and  best  affec 
tions  are  now  going  out,  guard  yourself.  So  shall  the 
bright  promise  of  your  marriage  hour  be  fulfilled  !" 

The  speaker  then  took  his  seat,  not  having  spoken  over 
one-third  of  the  time  he  had  allotted  himself.  But  he  had 
said  enough.  The  arrow  had  been  sent  with  a  true  aim, 
and  found  its  right  place.  But  few  remarks  were  made 
by  others;  and  then,  while  an  invitation  hymn  was  sung 
with  fine  effect,  the  pledge  was  offered  for  signatures. 

The  first  who  presented  himself,  was,  Henry  Ellis.  He 
sprang  forward  with  an  eagerness  that  showed  how  deep 
ly  he  had  felt  his  danger,  and  how  eager  he  was  to 
escape. 

Three  weeks  from  that  night  he  was  married  to  one  of 
the  sweetest  girls  in  the  town.  While  the  lecturer  was 
speaking  of  his  early  history  —  of  his  marriage  —  and  of 
the  sad  results  of  his  temperate  drinking — Ellis  felt  awful 
as  imagination  pictured  his  own  darkened  hearth,  and  the 


198  THE     TEMPERATE     DRINKER. 

heart-broken  maiden  whom  he  so  tenderly  loved,  shiver 
ing  beside  it. 

"  Horrible  !"  he  murmured  to  himself,  with  a  shudder, 
as  he  shook  off  the  dreary,  prophetic  state  into  which  he 
had  been  thrown.  This  fixed  his  resolution  never  again 
to  suffer  anything  that  could  intoxicate  to  pass  his  lips  — 
and  under  this  feeling  he  acted  when  he  signed  the  pledge 
so  eagerly. 


THE  SPRING  BONNET. 


"MY  dear  Carry,"  said  Martha  Grier  to  her  young 
friend  Caroline  Mayfield — her  face  was  grave  and  her 
tones  serious — "  I  wish  you  would  give  up  this  worldli- 
ness,  this  carnal  pleasure-seeking,  to  which  you  are  so 
devoted." 

"  Don't  preach  to  me,  Martha,"  replied  Caroline,  in  a 
gay  tone ;  "  I'm  quite  as  good  as  you  are." 

"  And  a  great  deal  better,  I  hope,"  said  Martha  Grier. 
"  But  our  own  good  is  as  nothing — it  will  not  save  us. 
4  Come  out  from  among  them,  and  be  ye  separate,'  are 
the  words  of  solemn  admonition  spoken  to  every  living 
soul." 

"  Come  out  from  among  whom  ?"  asked  Caroline. 

"From  among  worldlings." 

"  From  among  the  evil — so  I  understand  the  injunction." 

"  Well,  and  what  is  the  difference  ?"  said  Martha  Grier. 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal.  The  evil  are  they  who  purpose  and 
seek  to  do  wrong ;  while  the  worldlings,  as  you  call  them, 
are  often  very  good  kind  of  people — in  fact,  a  great  deal 
better  than  many  of  your  over-pious,  self-righteous  sort 
of  folks,  who  coolly  consign  such  as  I  am  to  a  place  I 
have  no  fancy  for,  and  to  which  I  shall  take  good  care 
not  to  go." 

"  You  speak  lightly  on  a  serious  subject,  Carry." 

"  Oh  no !" 

"You  jest  with  religion." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  dear ;  I  have  never  done  that  in 
my  life." 

"  Then  I  don't  comprehend  you,"  said  Martha. 

201 


202  THE    SPRING    BONNET. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that.  People  like  you  see  only  within 
the  limit  of  a  very  small  circle.  I  should  be  sorry  to  give 
you  the  keys  of  heaven  and  hell." 

"  Carry  !' 

"Don't  look  so  shocked,  my  dear." 

"  Didn't  you  say,  just  now,  that  you  never  jested  with 
religion  ?" 

"  I  did  say  so,  and  I  repeat  it." 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  am  to  interpret  your  present 
language." 

"  Don't  you  ?  Understand  it  then,  as  only  referring 
to  those  who,  like  yourself,  limit  the  heavenly  life  to  a 
life  of  simple  piety,  and  account  charity  as  of  little  worth ; 
to  those  who  separate  the  world  and  religion,  instead  of 
bringing  religion  down  into  the  very  centre  of  action,  and 
making  it  the  heart  and  lungs  to  common  society." 

Martha  looked  surprised  at  this  remark.  There  was  a 
meaning  in  it  that  she  but  faintly  comprehended. 

"Be  not  conformed  to  the  world,"  said  she,  oracularly; 
"but  be  ye  transformed  by  the  renewing  of  your  minds." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  conforming  to  the  world  ?" 
asked  Caroline. 

"Following  after  its  fashions,  and  entering  into  its 
pleasures." 

And,  as  Martha  said  this,  she  let  her  eyes  wander 
meaningly  over  the  handsomely-dressed  person  of  her 
young  friend. 

"I  believe  you  hold  dancing  to  be  sinful,"  said  Caro 
line,  "as  well  as  opera  and  play-going?" 

"I  do,  most  assuredly,"  replied  the  young  devotee. 

"  And  fashionable  dressing  ?" 

"  Certainly.  In  all  this  I  see  only  conformity  to  the 
world,  which  is  strictly  forbidden." 

"  Is  it  not  possible  that  a  conformity  of  the  spirit  may 
be  meant?"  asked  Caroline. 

"And  is  an  external  conformity  possible  without  an 
internal  one  ?"  said  the  friend. 

"  No,  certainly  not ;  but  in  the  false  maxims  and  evil 
principles  which  govern  in  the  world,  we  will  be  more 
likely  to  find  the  origin  of  real  evil  acts,  than  in  a  mere 
fondness  for  dress  or  in  a  desire  for  innocent  pleasure." 


THE    SPRING    BONNET.  203 

"  Innocent  pleasure !  Do  not  the  words  contradict 
each  other  ? 

*  Each  pleasure  hath  its  poison,  too, 
And  every  sweet  a  snare.' " 

"And  so,"  returned  Caroline,  "has  every  good  thing; 
but  the  poison  and  the  snare  lie  in  its  perversion  from 
its  proper  use.  And  depend  upon  it,  Martha,  you  are 
in  quite  as  much  danger  of  perverting  things  from  their 
true  order  as  I  am." 

"How  so?" 

"  True  righteousness — I  will  speak  as  plainly  as  you 
have  spoken  to  me — true  righteousness  may  be  verging, 
in  you,  closely  upon  self-righteousness,  while  over-piety 
is  destroying  charity." 

Martha  Grier  seemed  half  offended  by  this  sort  of  plain 
speaking.  She  had,  in  a  spirit  of  self-righteousness, 
assumed  to  lecture  her  friend  on  the  subject  of  worldly 
folly  and  carnal-mindedness — not  supposing  for  a  moment, 
that  there  existed  any  room  for  retaliation.  Perceiving 
the  effect  of  her  words,  Caroline  changed  the  subject  by 
saying — 

"  I  saw  some  beautiful  new  style  bonnets  this  morning. 
Have  you  selected  one  for  the  spring  yet  ?" 

"Yes;  I  ordered  one  yesterday." 

"Who  is  making  it?" 

"Miss  Wheeler." 

"  Ah !  does  she  make  your  bonnets  ?"  said  Caroline. 

"  Yes ;  she  has  done  the  millinery  of  our  family  for  the 
last  two  or  three  years.  Her  mother  and  younger  sisters 
are  almost  entirely  dependent  on  her,  and  we  throw  every 
thing  in  her  way  that  we  can.  Besides,  she  is  reasonable 
in  her  charges ;  and  we  like  to  encourage  the  poor." 

"  Has  she  good  taste  ?"  asked  Caroline. 

"  Oh,  very  good." 

"  Then  I  will  get  her  to  make  my  bonnet.  I  saw  one 
to-day  that  pleased  me  exactly." 

"  I  wish  you  would.     It  is  a  charity  to  give  her  work." 

After  leaving  her  young  friend,  Caroline  Mayfield 
called  upon  Miss  Wheeler  and  gave  an  order  for  a  bonnet. 

"  I  want  it  this  week,  remember,"  said  Caroline. 

"  I  have  a  good  deal  of  work  on  hand  to  be  finished  by 


204  THE    SPRING    BONNET. 

Saturday  night;  but  I  will  try  my  best  to  get  yours 
done." 

"  Oh,  it  must  be  done,"  replied  Caroline  gayly.  "  I 
wish  to  show  it  off  at  church  next  Sunday." 

The  young  milliner  smiled  at  the  remark  of  her  custo 
mer,  made  jestingly,  and  said  that,  unless  some  unforeseen 
event  occurred  to  prevent  it,  she  would  have  the  bonnet 
done. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  depend  on  you,"  said  Caroline,  and 
went  away. 

Saturday  evening  came ;  but  no  bonnet  had  yet  been 
sent  home  for  her.  "I  must  see  about  this,"  said  she; 
"  I  can't  be  disappointed  in  my  new  spring  bonnet.  Have 
set  my  heart  on  showing  it  off  at  church  to-morrow."  So 
she  drew  on  her  things ;  and,  taking  her  little  brother 
with  her  for  company,  started  off  for  the  milliner's. 

u  Can  I  see  Miss  Wheeler  ?"  asked  she  of  a  child  who 
opened  the  door  of  the  modest  dwelling  where  the  bonnet- 
maker  resided. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  the  child;  "she  is  in  the  work 
room.  Will  you  walk  up  ?" 

Caroline  tripped  lightly  up  stairs,  and  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  work-room.  The  only  inmate  was  Miss 
Wheeler,  and  she  sat  with  her  face  bent  down  on  a  table, 
and  two  unfinished  bonnets  lying  near.  She  did  not  move 
when  Caroline  entered,  nor  look  up,  until  the  young  lady 
placed  her  hand  upon  her  and  spoke.  Then  she  started, 
and  turned  a  pale,  weary  face  toward  her  visitor. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Mayfield,"  said  she,  forcing  a  feeble  smile 
to  her  face,  "  you  have  come  for  your  bonnet.  It  isn't 
quite  done  yet ;  but  I  will  finish  it  before  I  go  to  bed,  and 
send  it  to  you  early  in  the  morning.  Both  of  my  girls 
have  been  sick  for  three  days,  and  I've  been  up  all  night 
for  two  nights,  trying  to  get  through  the  work  promised. 
Your  bonnet  and  Miss  Grier's  are  the  only  two  that  re 
main  unfinished.  I'm  sorry  you  had  the  trouble  to  come 
out.  But  I  won't  disappoint  you." 

"  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  finish  these  bonnets  ?" 
asked  Miss  Mayfield. 

"  I  shall  have  to  work  late ;  but  I'll  get  them  done." 

"How  late?" 


THE    SPRING    BONNET.  205 

"Till  twelve  o'clock — or  perhaps  later." 

"No,  Miss  Wheeler,"  said  the  young  lady,  firmly,  yet 
kindly,  "  that  must  not  be.  You  shall  neither  overwork 
yourself,  nor  break  the  Sabbath  by  worldly  labour  on  my 
account.  Let  my  bonnet  lie  over  until  next  week ;  and 
I  can  safely  speak  for  Martha  Grier  that  she  will  bear 
cheerfully  her  disappointment.  Put  up  your  work,  and 
take  the  rest  you  need." 

"  My  head  has  ached  dreadfully  all  day,  and  now  the 
pain  half  blinds  me,"  said  Miss  Wheeler. 

"  Then  put  by  your  work,  by  all  means,"  urged  the 
kind-hearted  young  lady.  "My  old  bonnet  looks  very 
well ;  I  wore  it  to  church  last  Sunday,  and  can  wear  it 
again  to-morrow." 

"  I'm  afraid  Miss  Grier  would  not  be  pleased." 

"  She's  not  unreasonable  and  cruel.  I  know  Martha 
better  than  that.  Send  her  word  how  it  is,  and  she  will 
cheerfully  bear  her  disappointment." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  sick  and  weary  young 
woman.  "  I  feel  as  if  it  would  be  wrong  to  tax  my 
strength  too  far.  Much  depends  on  me.  If  I  were  to 
get  sick,  I  don't  know  how  mother  would  get  along." 

"  Put  away  every  thing,  and  go  to  bed  at  once,  Miss 
WTheeler.  If  you  finish  my  bonnet  and  send  it  home,  I 
won't  wear  it  to-morrow.  So  that  is  settled." 

Thus  urged,  Miss  Wheeler  laid  aside  her  work ;  and, 
with  her  head  aching  almost  to  distraction,  after  sending 
one  of  her  brothers  to  inform  Miss  Grier  that  she  was  too 
sick  to  finish  her  bonnet,  sought  her  chamber  and  rest  for 
her  weary  limbs.  She  had  just  fallen  into  a  gentle  sleep, 
when  her  brother,  who  had  gone  on  the  errand  to  Miss 
Grier,  returned,  and  entered  her  room. 

"Mary!  Mary!" — cried  he,  placing  his  hand  on  her, 
and  arousing  her  from  slumber — "  Mary  !" 

Miss  Wheeler  started  up ;  but,  before  she  had  time  to 
ask  a  question,  the  boy  said — 

"  Miss  Grier  says  that  she  must  have  her  bonnet  to 
night  !" 

"  Did  you  tell  her  that  I  was  sick  ?"  inquired  the  sister, 
binding  her  hands  across  her  aching  forehead  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes;  but  she  said  she  didn't  care — she  wanted  her 
18 


206  THE    SPRING    BONNET. 

bonnet  and  must  have  it,  if  you  worked  all  night  to  get  it 
done." 

"Oh  dear!"  sighed  the  sick,  exhausted  girl,  as  she  sat 
up  in  bed,  still  clasping  her  throbbing  brows. 

"  4  She  needn't  think  to  put  me  off  in  this  way,'  I  heard 
her  say  to  her  mother,"  added  the  boy. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  told  her  I  was  sick?"  asked 
the  weary  girl. 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  told  her  so  twice.  But  she  was  angry, 
and  said  she  didn't  care — sick  or  well,  her  bonnet  must 
be  done." 

"It  is  hard,"  murmured  the  poor  girl,  as  she  com 
menced  slowly  putting  on  the  clothes  she  had  a  little  while 
before  taken  off.  "Oh!  how  my  head  does  ache!"  she 
added,  after  a  few  moments,  pausing  in  her  work  of  re 
dressing  herself,  and  leaning  her  head  against  the  wall 
near  which  she  stood ;  "it  seems  as  if  it  would  burst." 

The  next  day  was  the  peaceful  Sabbath,  the  season  of 
rest  from  labour.  The  sleep  of  Caroline  Mayfield  had 
been  sweet,  and  in  the  morning  she  arose  with  tranquil 
feelings.  When  church  time  came,  she  was  ready  to  go 
with  the  family  to  the  house  where  God  is  worshipped, 
even  though  a  new  bonnet  did  not  grace  her  head.  Great 
was  her  surprise,  however,  soon  after  taking  her  seat  in 
church,  to  see  her  friend  Martha  Grier  wearing  the  new 
spring  bonnet  which  she  had  thought  lay  still  unfinished 
in  Miss  Wheeler's  work-room.  As  the  over-pious  young 
lady  walked  up  the  aisle,  it  was  plain,  from  the  motion 
and  air  of  her  head,  in  what  particular  direction  her 
thoughts  were  centered. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?"  thought  Caroline  Mayfield,  as 
she  looked  at  the  new  bonnet  of  her  young  friend. 
"  Surely  Martha  did  not  compel  that  sick  girl  to  work 
half  the  night,  in  weariness  and  pain,  that  she  might  ex 
hibit  a  new  bonnet  to  her  fellow-worshippers  ? — Did  not 
make  her  break  the  Sabbath,  that  she  might  keep  it  a 
little  more  to  her  own  satisfaction?" 

Thoughts  like  these  kept  crowding  themselves  into  the 
mind  of  Caroline  Mayfield,  to  the  exclusion  of  ideas  more 
fitting  for  the  place  and  occasion. 

After  the  services  were  ended,  she  moved,  with  the 


THE    SPRING    SONNET.  207 

retiring  congregation,  slowly  from  the  place  of  worship. 
Just  as  she  reached  the  pavement,  she  felt  a  hand  upon 
her  arm.  Turning,  she  met  the  half  smiling,  half  serious 
face  of  Martha  Grier.  The  smile  was  natural ;  the  serious 
look,  the  forced  expression.  The  first  came  from  the 
thought  of  her  beautiful  new  bonnet ;  the  last  was  con 
strained,  as  fitting  the  occasion.  Meaningly,  yet  almost 
involuntarily,  her  eyes  glanced  to  the  head  of  her  friend. 

"  So  you  didn't  get  your  new  bonnet,"  said  she,  in  a 
low  voice,  as  soon  as  they  were  a  little  away  from  the 
crowd.  "  How  comes  that  ?" 

"  Miss  Wheeler  was  too  unwell  to  finish  it,"  replied 
Caroline,  with  a  seriousness  that  she  felt  and  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal. 

"  Oh,  then,  you  let  her  put  you  off  with  that  excuse ! 
But  she  couldn't  get  away  from  her  promise  to  me  so 
easily." 

"  Don't  you  regard  sickness  as  an  excuse  for  the  non- 
performance  of  a  contract?"  said  Caroline,  looking 
earnestly  at  her  young  friend,  and  speaking  in  a  very 
serious  voice. 

"  Sickness  ?  Oh  yes,  sickness ;  but  — - — "  and  she 
hesitated,  for  Caroline  was  gazing  into  her  face  with  a 
look  that  disturbed  the  pleasant  elation  of  her  feelings. 

"But  what?"  asked  Caroline. 

"Miss  Wheeler  wasn't  sick." 

"  Suppose  we  call  there  on  our  way  home  from  church, 
and  see  how  it  is  with  her." 

"  Oh  no ;  I  don't  care  about  calling  there  to-day,"  aaid 
Martha, 

"Why  not?" 

"  It's  Sunday,  for  one  thing." 

"  The  better  the  day,  the  better  the  deed,  you  know. 
But,  to  speak  seriously,  Martha,  I  think  it  your  duty  to 
call." 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  Miss  Grier. 

"  In  all  probability,  by  requiring  the  poor,  over-wearied, 
exhausted  girl  to  work  until  two  or  three  o'clock  on  Sun 
day  morning  to  get  your  new  bonnet  done,  that  you  might 
show  it  off  in  church  to-day,  you  have  made  her  sick  in 


208  THE    SPRING    BONNET. 

real  earnest.  At  least,  it  is  your  duty,  as  a  professing 
Christian,  to  call  and  see  whether  this  be  so  or  not." 

Miss  Mayfield  felt  pretty  strongly  on  the  subject,  and 
she  spoke  with  some  severity. 

"  Carry,  why  do  you  talk  in  this  way  to  me ?"  said 
Martha  Grier,  her  manner  changing. 

"  I  speak  only  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness," 
returned  Caroline ;  "  and  these  you  should  be  willing  to 
hear.  One  whose  piety  shines  forth  so  conspicuously  as 
yours,  should  see  that  she  does  not  neglect  her  chanty. 
Come,  will  you  call  with  me  on  Miss  Wheeler  ?" 

"Yes,  as  long  as  you  seem  so  earnest  about  it.  No 
harm  can  be  done.  Most  likely  you  will  not  find  her  at 
home." 

Little  more  passed  between  the  two  young  ladies. 
They  were  soon  at  the  humble  abode  of  the  milliner. 
Mrs.  Wheeler,  the  mother  of  the  girl  they  had  called  to 
inquire  about,  opened  the  door  for  them. 

"How  is  your  daughter?"  asked  Caroline. 

"  She  is  very  ill  to-day,"  replied  Mrs.  Wheeler.  "  Won't 
you  walk  in  ?" 

The  two  young  ladies  entered. 

"Very  ill,  did  you  say?"  remarked  Caroline,  as  the 
door  closed. 

"  Yes,  very  ill,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  She  was  hurried 
last  week,  and  her  two  girls  going  home  sick,  she  worked 
nearly  all  night  for  three  nights  in  succession  to  get 
through  with  her  engagements.  She  was  quite  ill  last 
night,  but  sat  up  until  three  o'clock  to  finish  a  bonnet. 
I  tried  to  get  her  to  bed ;  but  she  wouldn't  give  up  until 
it  was  done.  Then,  as  the  last  stitch  was  taken,  she  fell 
fainting  from  her  chair." 

"And  she  is  very  sick  now?"  said  Caroline. 

"Yes,  very  sick.  I  sent  for  the  doctor.  He  didn't 
say  much ;  but  I  know  he  thinks  her  bad.  She's  quite 
out  of  her  head." 

"  Out  of  her  head  ?" 

"Yes.  And  she  rolls  about  on  her  pillow,  and  talks 
all  the  time.  Oh  dear !  I  feel  very  much  troubled.  Will 
you  walk  up  and  see  her  ?" 


THE    SPRING    BONNET,  200 

"Shall  we  go  up,  Martha?"  said  Caroline,  looking 
toward  her  young  friend. 

"Perhaps  we'd  better  not,  as  she's  so  ill,"  replied 
Martha.  "It  will  do  her  no  good,  but  may  disturb  her," 

"  Very  true.  No,  ma'am,  we  won't  see  her  now,"  said 
Caroline,  turning  to  Mrs.  Wheeler ;  "  but  I'll  call  around 
this  afternoon.  I  hope  it  may  not  be  so  serious  as  you 
fear." 

"You  are  very  kind.  Oh  yes,  I  hope  she  may  be 
better  soon;  but  I'm  afraid.  When  one  breaks  down 
from  being  overworked,  as  she  has  been,  they  don't  always 
get  back  their  strength  again." 

"  Your  new  bonnet  has  been  purchased  at  too  great  a 
price !"  said  Miss  May  field,  with  some  sternness  of  man 
ner,  as  soon  as  she  was  in  the  street  again  with  Martha 
Grier.  She  felt  strongly  on  the  subject,  and  determined 
to  give  her  friend  the  full  force  of  the  reproof  she  deserved, 
even  at  the  risk  of  offending  her.  "  Wicked  and  worldly- 
minded  as  I  am,  Martha,  I  had  too  much  religion  to  do 
what  you  have  done.  So  far  from  requiring  Miss  Wheeler 
to  over-tax  her  strength,  in  order  that  I  might  have  a  new 
bonnet  for  Sunday,  I  required  her  to  lay  the  unfinished 
work  aside  the  moment  I  understood  she  was  indisposed. 
I  not  only  spoke  for  myself,  but  for  you  also — thinking 
that  you,  who  served  God  so  devotedly,  could  not  but 
regard  with  human  feelings  the  poor,  who,  he  hath  said, 
are  always  with  us.  But  it  seems  that  I  gave  you  credit 
for  more  charity  than  you  possessed.  By  your  own  ac 
knowledgment,  you  required  her  to  resume  the  work  I 
had,  speaking  for  you,  said  that  she  might  lay  aside. 
Pardon  this  freedom  of  speech.  I  say  what  I  do,  not  to 
pain  you,  but  to  make  you  sensible  of  your  error.  Piety 
and  charity  must  go  hand  in  hand.  True  religion  is  to 
regard  man  as  well  as  to  worship  God." 

The  two  young  friends  were  now  at  a  point  where  their 
ways  divided.  The  eyes  of  Martha  were  upon  tho 
pavement. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  as  they 
paused.  Her  face  was  averted. 

"  Good  morning,"  returned  Caroline,  in  a  tone  kinder 
than  it  was  a  moment  before. 

18* 


210  THE    SPRING    BONNET. 

They  met,  a  few  hours  afterward  in  the  sick-room  of 
Mary  Wheeler.  Martha's  new  bonnet  did  not  grace  her 
head  on  that  occasion.  Indeed,  she  never  wore  it  after 
ward.  She  could  not.  The  sight  of  it  rebuked  her  too 
strongly.  Happily,  the  illness  of  the  young  milliner  did 
not  prove  so  disastrous  as  was  at  first  feared.  In  less 
than  a  week,  she  was  able  to  be  at  work  again,  though 
several  weeks  elapsed  ere  her  health  was  entirely  restored. 

Martha  and  Caroline  are  still  friends ;  but  the  former 
has  not  again  ventured  to  read  the  latter  a  lecture  on  the 
sin  of  fashionable  dressing,  carnal-mindedness,  and  plea 
sure-taking. 


Before  the  Election. 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  THE  ELECTION. 


PART  I. 


"An,  Patrick!  How  are  you,  my  friend  and  fellow- 
citizen?"  said  Mr.  R ,  to  Patrick  Murphy,  a  newly 

created  republican  from  the  green  island.  "  How  are 
you?"  And  he  grasped  the  hand  of  the  Irishman  and 
shook  it  warmly.  "  How  is  Mrs.  Murphy,  and  all  the 
little  ones  at  home?" 

"  Well,  I  thank  ye,"  returned  Patrick  familiarly.  "And 
how's  y'r  honour?" 

"First-rate,  my  friend, — first-rate.     Won't   you  take* 
something  to  drink,  Patrick  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  returned  the  willing  Irish 
man,  "if  it's  only  for  the  sake  of  the  good  cause." 

"You  may  well  say  for  the  good  cause,"  responded 

R ;  "  the  cause  of  the  people.     It  is  for  equal  rights 

that  we  are  now  struggling,  my  poor  but  honest  friend. 
For  the  right  to  breathe  the  pure  air  of  heaven.  For  the 
right  to  think,  and  speak,  and  act  as  freemen.  Men  in 
power  are  riding  it  over  us  rough-shod.  They  are  crush 
ing  the  very  life  out  of  us.  The  privileged  few  gather  to 
themselves  all  the  good  things  in  the  land,  and  leave  the 
great  multitude,  the  mass  of  the  people,  the  bone  and 
sinew  of  the  nation,  like  dogs  to  eat  the  crumbs  that  fall 
from  their  tables.  But  there's  a  good  time  coming, 
Patrick — a  good  time  coming.  A  little  while,  and  there 
will  be  a  great  change." 

213 


214  BEFORE   AND    AFTER 

"  Yis,  y'r  honour,  that  th'r  wull." 

The  candidate — for  be  it  understood,  that  it  was  on  the 

eve  of  an  election,  and  that  R was  a  candidate  for  a 

seat  in  the  State  legislature — now  advanced  toward  the 
bar — they  had  entered  a  drinking-house — saying — 

"What  will  you  take,  Mr.  Murphy?" 

"  Ony  thing  ye  plaze." 

"  Say  brandy  and  water  ?" 

"Fust-rate,"  replied  the  Irishman,  with  feeling. 

"Here's  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  Murphy,"  said 

R ,  as  he  lifted  his  glass,  bowing  with  a  graceful  and 

well-assumed  deference  to  his  companion. 

"  The  same  till  you,"  returned  Murphy  familiarly,  as 
he  poured  half  a  tumbler  of  pure  brandy  down  his  capa 
cious  throat. 

"And  now,  my  worthy  friend,"  said  R ,  laying  his 

hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Irishman  and  drawing  him 
aside,  "  how  is  the  good  cause  progressing  in  your  parti 
cular  neighbourhood?" 

"  You're  safe  in  our  ward  by  a  hundred  majority." 

"D'ye  think  so?" 

"  Faith,  an'  ye  are.  I  was  down  at  McPhelin's  tavern 
last  night  until  twelve  o'clock.  There  warn't  but  three 

men  there  that  dared  to  open  their  mouths  for  L , 

and  I  rather  think  their  bones  a'n't  done  aching  yet." 

"How  so?" 

Murphy  doubled  his  huge  fist,  and  assumed  a  pugilistic 
attitude. 

"No  fighting,  I  hope?"  said  R . 

"  No — no.  Only  a  bit  of  a  scrimmage.  There  was  a 
rowdy  Yankee  there,  who  insulted  y'r  honour;  and  the 
way  I  chastised  him  would  have  done  y'r  heart  good." 

"  Insulted  me  ?  Ah  !  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"Yis;  and  he  insulted  the  great  body  of  y'r  consti 
tuents  into  the  bargain,  the  spalpeen  !" 

"  How  ?     What  did  he  say  of  me  ?" 

"  He  said  that  y'r  honour  cared  no  more  for  a  poor 
mon  than  for  the  dirt  under  y'r  feet ;  and  that  after  the 
election  you  wouldn't  let  me,  in  particular,  touch  you  with 
a  forty-foot  pole." 

"  He  sai<<  '.hat,  did  he  ?" 


THE    ELECTION.  215 

"  Indade,  y'r  honour,  and  that's  jist  what  he  did  say. 
But  if  he  didn't  feel  the  weight  of  a  heavy  bunch  of  bones, 
call  me  a  liar.  He'll  have  blue  ribbons  around  his  eyes 
for  a  month.  It'll  be  as  much  as  the  bargain  if  he  get 
to  the  polls  to-morrow." 

"And  so  we  are  certain  of  your  ward?" 

"  Sure  as  death ;  and  I  take  credit  to  meself  for  one- 
half  the  success.  I've  worked  hard  in  the  good  cause, 
Mr.  R ." 

"It's  the  cause  of  the  people;  or,  more  emphatically 
speaking,  the  cause  of  the  poor  man.  The  rich  and  the 
privileged  classes — the  capitalists  and  monopolists  of  the 
day — are  crushing  the  very  life  out  of  you.  This  is  the 
time  for  effectual  resistance.  You  must  break  the  chains 
of  oppression  now,  or  they  remain  fastened  upon  you  for 
ever.  The  country  of  your  adoption  expects  much  of  you, 
Mr.  Murphy.  Do  not  disappoint  her.  Remember,  that 
the  vote  of  a  poor  man  is  equal  in  value  to  that  of  the 
proudest  nabob  in  the  land.  Never  lose  sight  of  that  fact, 
my  friend.  A  convert  to  our  side,  no  matter  who  or  what 
he  is,  a  drunkard  in  the  gutter,  or  a  lazy  pauper  in  the 
almshouse,  balances  off  the  vote  of  one  of  your  silk-stock 
ing  gentry  on  the  other  side.  Votes  are  what  we  want, 
then — votes — votes — votes.  Let  that  be  ever  before  your 
eyes.  You'll  be  at  the  public  meeting  to-night  ?" 

"  'Dade,  and  it's  what  I  wull." 

"  That's  right.  And  you  must  bring  along  as  many 
staunch  adherents  of  the  good  cause  as  you  can  find." 

"  Trust  me  for  that,  Mr.  R ." 

"  Mr.  P is  not  on  our  side  ?" 

"  He  ?  No — no  !  He  belongs  to  tlw  silk-stocking  party. 
"What  d'ye  think  he  said  to  me  yesterday  ?  '  See  here, 
Murphy,'  says  he,  '  if  you  don't  quit  this  drinking  and 
rowdying  about,  and  attend  better  to  y'r  business,  you 
and  I'll  have  to  part.'  Drinking  and  rowdying  about, 
indade ! — I  knew  what  he  meant.  It  was  the  political 
matters  he  objected  till.  He  wanted  to  interfare  with  my 
freedom,  and  compel  me  to  vote  his  way." 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"  'Dade,  and  it  is." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 


216  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

"  Say  till  him  ?  Why,  jist  nothing  at  all,  at  all.  But 
didn't  I  look  as  black  as  a  thunder-cloud  ?" 

"Don't  be  afraid,  my  excellent  friend,"  said  the  can 
didate,  laying  his  hand  on  the  Irishman's  shoulder,  and 
speaking  deliberately.  "  Do  your  duty  as  a  man,  and  fear 
nothing.  What  wages  does  P give  you?" 

"  A  paltry  twenty  dollars  a  month,  bad  luck  till  him !" 

"For  the  valuable  services  of  a  man  like  you?" 

"It's  ivery  cint." 

"  Possible  !  It's  little  better  than  starvation  ?" 

"  'Dade,  and  ye  may  well  say  thot.  It's  little  more 
nor  starvation.  I  wonder  how  much  better  he  is  nor  me, 
or  ony  of  the  poor  men  around  him,  out  of  whose  sweat 
and  blood  he  is  coining  goold  and  dollars." 

"  He's  not  half  so  good,  my  honest  friend.  You're 
worth  a  dozen  like  him.  It's  you  that  ought  to  be  riding 
in  a  carriage,  instead  of  one  like  him." 

"  The  likes  o'  him  !"  contemptuously  ejaculated  Murphy. 

"There's  a  better  time  coming,"  said  the  candidate 
encouragingly.  "  Work  hard  and  push  through  the  good 
cause  at  this  election.  Once  let  our  party  come  into 
power,  and  you'll  see  a  change  that  will  be  worth  calling 
a  change.  There  are  plenty  of  fat  offices  waiting  for  the 
working  friends  of  the  cause ;  and  you  belong,  emphatic 
ally  to  that  class." 

"  Yis,  indade  !     I'm  a  working  man  out  and  out." 

"  That's  well  known.  I've  heard  you  spoken  of  a 
dozen  times.  More  than  one  of  our  leading  men  have 
their  eyes  on  you." 

"  We're  bound  to  bate." 

"But  we  will  have  to  work  for  it.  Don't  forget  that. 
Our  opponents  are  wide  awake." 

"  Och  !  And  ye  needn't  tell  me  that,  Musther  R . 

Don't  I  know  ?  But,  as  I  said,  we're  bound  to  bate ;  and 
we  will  bate.  And  when  we've  won  the  election,  what 
kind  of  an  office  do  you  think  I  can  get  ?  How  large 
will  be  the  salary?" 

"  Nothing  less  than  seven  or  eight  hundred  dollars." 

"So  much  as  that?  Och,  blood-er-nouns,  but  won't  I 
be  illigant !  Eight  hundred  dollars !  I  feel  rich  already. 
Who  cares  for  Mr.  P ?  Bad  'cess  till  him  !" 


THE    ELECTION.  217 

"  Don't  forget  the  meeting  to-night,"  said  B, ,  now 

moving  away. 

"Niverfear.     I'll  be  there." 

"  And,  above  all,  be  at  your  post  to-morrow.  It  is  the 
great  day  of  battle,  and  unless  every  soldier  is  in  the  field, 
the  enemy  may  conquer.  Go  early  to  the  polls  and  vote 
your  ticket,  and  then  see  that  every  man  over  whom  you 
have  an  influence  does  the  same  thing.  A  long  pull,  a 
strong  pull,  and  a  pull  altogether,  will  do  the  work  for  us. 
Then,  you  know  the  motto — '  To  the  victors  belong  the 
spoils.'  Good-by,  my  friend."  And  the  candidate  shook 
Murphy  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  left  him. 

"Pah!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  with  disgust  and  im 
patience,  as  he  got  fairly  clear  of  the  vulgar  Irishman. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  when  this  work  is  over.  I'm  half  sick 
with  disgust,  and  half  mad  with  a  fretting  sense  of  humili 
ation.  But  they  are  our  tools,  and  we  must  work  with 
them.  After  our  work  is  done,  it  will  be  an  easy  matter 
to  throw  them  aside." 

Patrick  Murphy  had  been  in  the  country  just  long 
enough  to  secure  a  legal  naturalization,  and  thus  get  the 
power  of  a  vote  in  our  elections.  As  to  the  constitution 
of  the  United  States,  he  had  never  read  the  first  article ; 
and  his  ideas  of  the  spirit  of  our  institutions  were  bounded 
on  all  sides  by  the  word  liberty.  Soon  after  his  arrival, 
he  became  aware  that  duties  and  responsibilities,  un 
dreamed  of  in  the  "ould  counthry,"  were  resting  upon  him. 
He  was  "  one  of  the  people,"  upon  whom  reposed  the 
welfare  of  the  nation.  There  was  a  party  in  power,  charged 
with  aiming  to  restore  the  old  monarchical  and  aristocrati- 
cal  privileges  that  were  such  a  curse  to  Europe,  and 
seeking  to  trample  the  poor  working  man  under  foot.  Pat 
was  soon  politically  indoctrinated  by  the  party  that  first 
gained  his  ear,  flattered  his  self-love,  and  excited  his  na 
tural  belligerence ;  and  as  whisky,  an  article  to  the  use 
of  which  he  was  born,  flowed  as  free  as  water  at  the  head 
quarters  of  the  party,  his  affections  were  not  only  won, 
but  firmly  retained. 

Pat's  first  electioneering  experience  was  the  one  that 
brought  him  in  familiar  intercourse  as  an  equal  with  Mr. 

R ,  than  whom  there  was  not,  in  feeling,  a  more 

19 


218  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

thorough  aristocrat  to  be  found.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  really  despise  every  thing  below  them ;  but,  being  a 
lover  of  power  and  an  office-seeker,  he  could  talk  of  the 
dear  people,  and  shake  them  by  the  hand  with  an  appear 
ance  of  interest  and  regard,  while  in  his  heart  he  loathed 
their  very  presence.  His  manner  of  treating  Murphy 
completely  turned  the  Irishman's  head,  and  made  him  so 

insolent  in  his  manner  to  his  employer,  a  Mr.  P ,  that 

the  latter  had  been  several  times  tempted  to  dismiss  him 
from  his  store,  where  he  was  engaged  as  labourer  and 
porter. 

On  the  night  before  the  election,  Murphy  was  at  the 
public  meeting,  as  he  had  promised.  "While  R occu 
pied  the  stand  as  speaker,  he  stood  close  beside  him, 
hurraing  and  throwing  his  hat  in  the  air  at  every  em 
phatic  sentence.  Far  above  every  other  voice  was  heard 

his,  ever  and  anon  shouting,  "R and  the  paple, 

for  ever !" 

After  the  adjournment  of  the  meeting,  he  met  R 

at  the  ward-house,  and  was  hand  and  glove  with  him  for 
the  space  of  an  hour.  When  he  started  for  home  about 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  his  mind  had  become  so  con 
fused  by  drink  or  self-conceit,  most  probably  the  former, 
that  he  was  in  serious  doubt  whether  he  were  not  the 

candidate  for  election  himself,  and  R only  one  of  the 

working  members  of  the  political  firm.  Murphy  had 
some  doubts  whether  he  would  go  to  the  store  at  all  on  the 
next  day.  It  was  the  great  election  day,  when  a  battle 
was  to  be  fought,  and  when  every  man  should  be  at  his 
post  and  ready  to  do  his  duty.  After  some  debate,  he 

concluded  to  go  and  open  Mr.  P 's  store,  and  put  the 

counting-room  in  some  order,  previous  to  the  arrival  of 
the  clerks.  Then  he  would  take  the  day  to  himself. 

It  was  about  half-past  eight  o'clock  that  Patrick  Mur 
phy  presented  himself  to  the  owner  of  the  store,  and,  with 
an  air  of  unusual  self-importance,  said — 

"  I  shall  be  absent  the  rest  of  the  day,  Musther  P ." 

"How  so,  Patrick?"  inquired  his  employer. 

"It's  'lection  day." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Have  you  a  vote  ?" 

"  Sure  and  I  have,  as  much  as  the  best  of  yez." 


THE   ELECTION.  219 

"  Then  you're  naturalized  ?" 

"'Dade,  and  I  am  thot." 

"  But  it  won't  take  you  all  day  to  vote.  Half  an  hour, 
or  an  hour,  at  most,  is  long  enough  for  you  to  be  absent 
from  the  store." 

"  I've  something  else  to  do  besides  voting.  I'm  one  of 
the  ward  committee  to  attind  the  polls." 

"  You  are  !"  Mr.  P spoke  in  a  tone  of  contempt 

that  rather  nettled  Murphy. 

"  Yez  needn't  fash  a  body  in  that  way,  Musther  P . 

Ise  got  rights  and  privileges  as  well  as  ony  other  mon,  if 
I  am  poor,"  he  answered  a  little  indignantly. 

"  I've  no  wish  to  interfere  with  your  rights,  Patrick, 

said  Mr.  P seriously.  "  As  a  citizen,  your  right  and 

duty  is  to  vote,  and  time  enough  for  that  I  have  no  desire 
to  withhold.  You  can  go  and  cast  your  vote,  and  then 
return  to  your  work,  as  I  shall  do.  But  to  release  you 
from  your  obligation  to  me,  that  you  may  have  time  to 
meddle  in  what  doesn't  concern  you,  and  interfere  with 
other  men's  freedom  in  voting,  is  what  I  cannot  do.  To 
day  is  a  busy  day  in  the  store.  We  have  a  large  amount 
of  goods  to  pack,  and  cannot  dispense  with  your  services." 

"My  duty  to  my  adopted  counthry" 

"You  needn't  talk  to  me  after  that  fashion,  Patrick," 

interrupted  Mr.  P impatiently.  "  Vote  your  vote,  if 

you  wish  to  do  so,  and  leave  the  country  to  take  care  of 
itself.  It  will  get  on  well  enough  without  any  of  your 
meddling  interference." 

"  0  yis.  That's  the  way  ye  nabobs  try  to  lord  it  over 
us  poor  men,  when  ye  think  ye  have  us  in  y'r  power," 
retorted  Murphy  in  an  insolent  tone.  "  But  I'm  not  jist 
ready  to  kneel  down  and  let  yez  put  y'r  foot  on  my 
neck." 

"My  friend,"  said  Mr.  P sharply — he  was  by 

this  time  quite  angry — "I  don't  want  to  bandy  any  words 
with  you.  You  can  go  to  the  polls  and  vote.  I'll  give 
you  an  hour  for  that  purpose ;  and  you  can  vote  for  his 
Satanic  Majesty,  if  it  please  your  fancy,  for  all  I  care. 
But  if  you  are  not  here  at  the  expiration  of  an  hour,  I'll 
hire  a  man  in  your  place.' 

"Musther  P "— 


220  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

"I  will  hear  no  more  on  the  subject,"  replied  the  mer 
chant,  turning  quickly  away,  and  walking  back  into  his 
counting-room. 

Murphy  stood  cogitating  a  few  moments,  and  then 
muttering  indignantly,  "No  purse-proud  nabob  shall  lord 
it  over  me !"  walked  erectly,  and  with  a  firm  bearing,  from 
the  store. 

What  did  he  care  for  the  loss  of  a  paltry  situation  like 
that,  when  in  a  few  days  he  would  be,  in  all  probability,  a 
custom-house  officer,  enjoying  an  income  of  a  thousand  or 
twelve  hundred  dollars. 

All  day  long  Patrick  Murphy  worked  at  the  polls,  in 
his  ward  and  out  of  his  ward,  at  any  and  every  thing  in 
which  those  who  had  the  superintendence  of  affairs  chose 
to  employ  him.  He  was  an  important  man — in  his  own 
eyes.  The  United  States  was  a  great  country  for  nature's 
true  nobility — honour  and  freedom  attended  them  as  hand 
maidens. 

The  sun  at  last  went  down,  and  the  polls  were  closed. 
Patrick  Murphy  would  have  bet  his  life  on  the  result. 
His  side  had  won,  of  course;  and,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  through  his  important  aid.  How  deeply  and 
heartily  did  he  despise  his  old  employer,  who  had  at 
tempted  to  restrict  his  political  rights,  and  to  abridge  his 
freedom  as  an  American  citizen.  There  were  times  during 
the  day,  when  indignation  and  whisky  raised  his  feelings 

to  such  a  height  that,  had  he  encountered  Mr.  P in 

the  street,  he  would  have  been  strongly  tempted  to  insult 
and  even  maltreat  him. 

After  ten  o'clock,  returns  from  various  wards  began  to 
come  in.  This  was  the  exciting  time.  Now  one  party 
was  ahead,  and  now  the  other.  The  poll  was  exceedingly 
close.  Patrick  Murphy  began  to  feel  uncomfortable. 
Several  times  during  the  evening,  since  the  closing  of  the 

polls,  he  had  encountered  Mr.  R .  But,  somehow  or 

other,  the  candidate  did  not  recognise  him.  He  was  too 
much  engaged  with  others.  What  did  he  care  for  the 
weak,  vulgar  tool  of  his  ambition  now  ?  Nothing  !  Murphy 
began  to  shrink  toward  his  natural  dimensions.  In  other 
Words,  to  feel  something  of  his  own  insignificance. 

At  last  the  result  was  fully  known.     R and  his 


THE    ELECTION.  221 

entire  party  were  beaten.  Murphy  was  about  sober 
enough  to  comprehend  the  disastrous  nature  of  this  intel 
ligence,  when  it  came  with  a  shock  upon  his  unwilling  ears. 
One  more  glass  of  whisky,  and  he  took  homeward,  at 
midnight,  his  disconsolate  way  alone,  and,  tumbling  him 
self  into  bed,  was  soon  lost  in  drunken  slumber. 

19* 


222  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 


PART  II. 


Jiftn 


WHEN  Patrick  Murphy,  the  independent  voter,  awoke 
on  the  next  morning  and  collected  his  thoughts,  he  had 
some  strange  feelings.  It  took  him  some  time  to  com 
prehend  clearly  the  fact  that  election  day  had  passed,  and 
that  his  party  had  been  signally  defeated.  Alas  !  all  the 
fine  offices,  in  the  distribution  and  enjoyment  of  which  he 
was  to  have  had  a  share,  were  in  the  hands  of  the  victors. 
The  beautiful  visions  that  had  floated  before  his  imagina 
tion  were  all  melting  into  thin  air.  He  was  not  to  ride  in 
his  coach  yet.  Deep  and  heavy  was  the  sigh  that  accom 
panied  this  conviction,  as  he  turned  himself  in  bed  and 
sought  in  his  mind  for  some  comforting  reflections. 

"  I've  made  some  powerful  acquaintances  ony  how," 
he  at  length  said,  by  way  of  consolation.  "  Musther 

K is  a  jewel  of  a  mon.  Worth  his  weight  in  goold. 

If  I  have  lost  the  siteation  at  Mr.  P 's,  it  was  in  his 

cause ;  and  he'll  not  see  me  suffer." 

Murphy's  head  was  none  of  the  clearest  when  he  arose ; 
nor  were  either  his  bodily  or  mental  sensations  the  most 
agreeable.  The  amount  of  money  in  his  purse  was  just 
nothing  at  all,  as  he  would  himself  have  expressed  the 
fact  if  called  upon  to  do  so,  and  there  were  only  about 
five  dollars  due  him  at  the  old  place  he  had  so  foolishly 
given  up.  Where  the  bread  and  potatoes  for  the  "  wife 
and  childther"  were  to  come  from  was  not  very  clear  to 
his  mind.  But  he  strove  to  brace  himself  up  with  the  idea 
of  having  made  a  number  of  powerful  acquaintances,  who 
would  stand  by  him  in  his  extremity  as  he  had  stood  by 
the  good  cause  of  the  people. 


After  the  Election. 


THE    ELECTION.  225 

After  breakfast,  Murphy  went  forth  and  repaired  to  the 
head-quarters  of  the  party,  where  he  found  a  goodly 
number  assembled  to  hear  the  returns  from  the  county 
and  State,  and  to  encourage  each  other  in  their  local  de 
feat,  by  mutual  assurances  of  success  in  the  general  result. 
Most  of  these  were  men  who  had  bets  pending  on  the 
State  election.  Those  who  had  striven  for  local  success, 
in  the  hope  of  securing  individual  benefit  when  the  distri 
bution  of  offices  came,  had  gone  back  to  their  stores,  shops, 
or  offices,  striving  to  be  content  with  a  lot  they  had  fondly 
hoped  to  better.  Few  of  those  around  him  were  familiar 
to  the  Irishman,  and  those  that  he  did  recognise  took  no 
notice  of  him. 

"  How  are  you,  Musther  B ?"  he  said,  walking  up 

to  a  gentleman  who  stood  conversing  with  a  friend.  The 
man  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  indifferently,  and  then 
merely  answered  in  a  rude,  somewhat  contemptuous  man 
ner — 

"  How  are  you,  Pat  ?"  and,  turning  his  back  toward 
him,  went  on  with  his  conversation. 

Murphy  didn't  just  like  this.     It  was  so  different  from 

]VJr.  B 's  manner  of  speaking  to  him  on  the  day  before. 

Then  it  was  "  Mr.  Murphy,"  or,  "  My  dear,  good  fellow," 
or,  "  How  are  you,  my  friend  and  fellow-citizen  ?"  ac 
companied  by  a  cordial  grip  of  the  hand.  After  three  or 
four  attempts,  about  as  successful  as  this,  to  renew  ac 
quaintance  with  others  who  happened  to  come  in  his  way, 
Patrick  Murphy,  with  his  feelings  rapidly  declining  to 
ward  zero,  took  his  departure  from  head-quarters,  and 
strolled  down  to  the  ward-house — the  scene  of  his  princi 
pal  electioneering  achievement. 

"Hallo,  Pat!  How  d'ye  feel  this  morning?"  was  the 
salutation  he  received  from  a  lounger  at  the  bar,  as  he 
entered.  "  Didn't  save  the  nation,  after  all.  Never  mind, 
Pat !  don't  look  so  cast  down  about  the  matter.  Better 
luck  next  time.  You've  one  consolation ;  you  did  your 
duty." 

"  Yes,  and  who  thanks  him  to-day  ?"  laughed,  or  rather 
half-sneered  another  independent  elector,  who  had  already 
found  out  that  he  was  of  far  less  importance  on  the  day 
after  than  on  the  day  before  the  election.  "  Yesterday  ha 


226  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

was  one  of  the  people,  patted  on  the  shoulder  and  cajoled 
by  Mr.  Broad-cloth-and-calfskin  ;  but  to-day  he's  a  foolish 
Irishman.  Ha!  ha!  We  the  people?  It's  very  fine,  and 
sounds  first-rate ;  but  it's  all  sound  and  fury,  meaning 
just  nothing  at  all,  at  all,  Pat  Murphy,  my  darlint.  Come, 
Pat,  won't  you  treat?" 

Pat  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  then  drawing 
it  forth  slowly,  shook  his  head,  and  sighed — 

"  Haven't  a  red  cint  left  to  bless  meself." 

"Just  my  own  interesting  condition,  Pat.' 

"Have  you  seen  Musther  R the  day?"  asked 

Murphy. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  looked  as  sour  as  a  lemon.  It  would 
take  a  power  of  sugar  to  sweeten  him." 

"  He's  disappointed,  in  coorse." 

"A'n'the?" 

"  Well,  as  for  Musther  R ,  I  can  say  wan  thing  of 

him  honestly.  He's  a  jontleman,  ivery  inch.  He  knows 
a  mon  when  he  sees  him ;  and  can  appraciate  merit 
in  the  humblest.  Bad  luck  till  the  party  that  bate  him, 
say  I!" 

"  He's  like  all  the  rest  of  'em,"  replied  the  man  to  this. 
"  Mighty  fine  and  nice  when  they  want  your  vote.  But 
too  good  to  share  the  same  sunshine  with  you  after  the 
election.  I  know  'em  all  from  A  to  Z." 

"  I'll  not  stand  and  hear  a  jontleman  like  Musther 

R abused  afther  that  fashion,"  retorted  Murphy 

indignantly. 

"  Won't  you,  indeed  ?"  was  sneeringly  replied. 

"  Indade,  and  I  won't,  thin.  He's  my  friend,  and  I'll 
hold  ony  mon  till  account  that  spakes  against  him." 

Hearing  this,  three  or  four  bar-room  loungers,  who 
wanted  a  little  excitement,  drew  instantly  around  the 
Irishman,  and  began  chafing  him  on  the  subject  of  his 

"friend"  R .  In  a  little  while  his  hot  blood  was 

boiling  over,  and  the  muscles  of  his  hands  contracting 
spasmodically.  A  fight  ensued,  in  which  Murphy  was 
severely  beaten,  and  then  pitched  headlong  into  the 
street. 

As  the  Irishman  gathered  himself  up,  and  stole  off  like 
a  whipped  cur,  he  began  to  comprehend  something  of  the 


THE    ELECTION.  227 

difference  between  before  and  after  the  election — a  new 
experience  for  him.  Since  the  closing  of  the  polls  on  the 
previous  evening,  he  had  been  steadily  shrinking  toward 
his  former  dimensions,  and  he  was  pretty  near  down  to 
his  old  size  by  this  time.  Before  the  election,  he  was  a 
man  of  importance  in  the  nation.  Great  events  depended 
on  his  efficient  action.  Now  he  was  simply  Patrick  Mur 
phy,  and  he  could  make  little  more  out  of  himself 
He  was  but  a  grain  of  sand  on  the  sea-shore. 

In  this  state  of  humiliation,  Murphy  went  home  at  din 
ner-time.  He  dared  not  go  home  before ;  for  in  that  case 
his  wife  Biddy,  who  had  a  temper  and  a  tongue  of  her 
own,  and  who  had  never  liked  his  meddling  in  politics, 
would  discover  that  had  not  been  at  work,  and  there  would 
be  a  flare-up  in  consequence. 

While  meditating  on  his  unhappy  condition,  Murphy, 

whose  confidence  in  R was  unimpaired,  resolved  to 

go  and  state  to  him  that  he  had  been  turned  off  by  Mr. 

P for  his  political  opinions,  and  was  now  without  the 

means  of  earning  bread  for  his  family.  He  did  not  in 

the  least  doubt  that  R would  immediately  procure 

for  him  a  much  better  place  than  the  one  he  had  lost. 

Elated  by  this  idea,  Murphy  left  his  home  after  dinner, 
and  called  at  the  handsome  residence  of  R . 

"Can  I  see  Musther  R ?"  he  asked  confidently  of 

the  servant  who  came  to  the  door. 

"He's  engaged  and  cannot  be  seen,"  replied  the  ser 
vant. 

He'll  see  me,  I  know.  Tell  him  that  Musther  Murphy 
wishes  to  spake  wid  him  just  a  minute." 

The  servant  hesitated  to  deliver  the  message,  but  Mur 
phy  urged  the  matter,  and  he  finally  consented  to  do  as 
he  wished.  In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  and  said  that 
Mr.  R was  engaged,  and  couldn't  see  any  one. 

"  Did  yez  tell  him  me  name?"  asked  Murphy. 

"I  did." 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

"I  have  told  you  what  he  said,"  returned  the  servant 
rather  sharply.  "He  cannot  see  you." 

Poor  Murphy  turned  away,  feeling  still  more  painfully 
his  own  insignificance.  A  few  days  before,  he  was  a  very 


228  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

lord  in  influence;  now,  even  a  common  house-servant 
treated  him  with  contempt.  Still  he  had  confidence  in 

R ,  the  defeated  candidate.  R knew  him  as  a 

man,  and  appreciated  his  value.  He  had  sacrificed  every 

thing  for  R ,  and  he  was  sure  that  R would  stand 

by  him  now. 

For  an  hour  or  two  the  Irishman  sauntered  about  the 
streets  or  lounged  in  bar-rooms,  meditating  on  his  un 
happy  condition.  He  then,  in  a  humbled  frame  of  mind, 

determined  to  call  on  Mr.  P ,  apologize  for  his  conduct 

on  the  day  before,  and  ask  to  be  taken  back  into  his 
employment.  P received  him  coolly ;  and  when  Mur 
phy  volunteered  an  apology,  told  him  that  it  was  too  late, 
as  he  had  already  hired  a  man  in  his  place. 

"  Then  yez  proscribes  me  for  opinion's  sake,"  said  Pat, 
growing  insolent  when  no  hope  of  favour  remained. 

"  No,"  coolly  answered  the  merchant.  "  I  merely  filled 
the  place  you  left.  I  don't  care  any  thing  about  a  man's 
opinions.  I  regard  only  his  ability  to  serve  me  in  the 
situation  I  want  filled.  If  he  leaves  my  work  to  go  and 
interfere  with  the  freedom  of  elections  at  the  polls  for  a 
whole  day,  I  will  discharge  him,  no  matter  what  his  po 
litical  opinions  may  be,  and  I  told  you  that  beforehand. 
So  you've  only  yourself  to  blame.  Here's  the  balance 
of  money  due  you.  And  when  next  you  get  a  good  place 
don't  throw  it  up  for  the  sake  of  some  brawling  candidate 
who  doesn't  care  three  beans  for  you." 

Saying  this,  the  merchant  turned  from  Murphy,  who 
retired  slowly,  with  anger,  mortification,  and  disappoint 
ment  struggling  in  his  mind  for  the  preponderance.  He 

had  only  gone  about  a  block  from  the  store  of  Mr.  P , 

when  his  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  R ,  who 

stood  talking  with  two  or  three  gentlemen.  Murphy  waited 

at  a  respectful  distance  until  R was  disengaged,  and 

then  approached  him  with  his  hat  held  deferently  in  his 

hand.  R did  not  appear  to  observe  him,  and  was 

passing  on,  when  the  Irishman  said — 

"  How  are  yez,  Mr.  R ?" 

The  defeated  candidate  half  paused  and  stared  at  him, 
while  his  brow  contracted.  Murphy  smiled,  and  advanced 


THE    ELECTION.  229 

nearer,  expecting  the  countenance  of  his  friend  suddenly 
to  change,  and  his  hand  to  seize  his  warmly. 

"Who  are  you?  And  what  do  you  want?"  now  fell 
from  the  lips  of  R ,  while  his  face  wore  a  more  repul 
sive  aspect. 

"Don't  yez  know  Musther  Murphy?"  asked  the  voter. 

"  Murphy  !  Pah !  I've  had  more  Pat  Murphys  running 
after  me  than  would  freight  a  ship.  What  do  you  want  ?" 

Poor  Murphy  was  dumb  with  astonishment.  He  stood 
like  one  aghast  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  turned  slowly 
away.  He  had  shrunk  now  below  his  former  dimensions, 
and  felt  not  only  insignificant,  but  powerless  and  wretched. 
This  was  the  unkindest  cut  of  all. 

Since  election  day,  Pat  Murphy  has  had  a  pretty  hard 
time  to  get  bread  for  his  family.  At  hod-carrying,  cellar- 
digging,  and  street-scraping,  he  has  been  working  off  and 
on ;  and  though  he  has  lived  in  hopes  of  getting  another 
situation  in  a  store,  that  hope  has  not  yet  been  realized. 

When  election  times  come  round  again  he  will  be  patted 
on  the  shoulder,  "called  one  of  the  people,"  "my  friend," 
"  bone  and  sinew,"  and  all  that,  and  be  hand  and  glove 
with  a  set  of  men  who  would  not  pick  him  out  of  the 
gutter  at  any  other  season.  And  Pat,  forgetful  of  the 
lesson  that  he  has  learned,  will  be  flattered  into  the  belief 
that  he  is  "somebody,"  and  made  to  pull  in  the  traces 
under  some  political  driver,  while  of  any  use,  and  then  be 
turned  out  to  get  pasture  where  he  can  find  it.  How 
many  campaigns  it  will  take  to  endow  him  with  a  grain  of 
common  sense  or  independent  thought,  is  a  sum  that  our 
knowledge  of  figures  will  not  enable  us  to  cipher  out. 
But  we  shall  see. 


20 


230  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 


PART  III. 

fatritfc  Sterns  $Utas  10  fcis  initial  jfwnis. 


IT  was  near  the  close  of  a  sultry  day  in  August,  and  a 
poor,  toil-worn  Irishman  "might  have  been  seen"  wearily- 
wending  his  way  upward  toward  the  summit  of  a  house, 
with  a  hod  of  bricks  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Bad  'cess  till  Musther  R !"  fell,  half-angrily,  from 

the  Irishman's  lips,  as  he  gained  the  elevation  he  was 
seeking,  and  deposited  his  load  upon  the  scaffold.  "Bad 

'cess  till  Musther  R !"  he  repeated.  "If  it  hadn't 

been  for  him  I'd  still  be  houlding  my  good  siteation  in 
P 's  store,  instead  of  being  kilt  to  death  wid  this  hod- 
carrying." 

And  then  Mister  Patrick  Murphy — for  it  was  that  in 
dependent  citizen — shouldered  his  empty  hod,  and  com 
menced  retracing  his  steps  down  the  ladder  for  another 
instalment  of  building-materials.  Just  as  he  reached  the 
ground,  a  voice,  whose  tones  were  instantly  recognised, 
said  with  animation — 

"Why,  Mr.  Murphy,  is  this  you?  How  are  you,  my 
old  friend  and  fellow-citizen  ?  How  are  you?" 

And  Mr.  R ,  the  very  man  Patrick  had  been  think 
ing  about,  stood  smiling,  with  extended  hand,  before 
him. 

To  be  thus  addressed  by  a  "gentleman"  was  more  than 
the  long-nursed  anger  of  Murphy  could  withstand,  and  it 
melted  away  into  good  nature,  like  frost-work  in  the 
morning  sunshine. 

"How  are  yez,  Musther  R ?"  he  returned,  as  he 

left  the  candidate  take  his  hand  and  shake  it  heartily. 

"  Oh,  bright  as  a  May  morning !"  said  R ,  still  hold- 


Returns  to  his  Political  Frie  ids 


THE    ELECTION.  233 

ing  the  Irishman  by  the  hand.  "But  how  are  you  getting 
on  now,  Mr.  Murphy?" 

"Bad  enough,  and  plaze  y'r  honour,"  replied  Patrick. 

"  Ah,  I'm  sorry  for  that.    Have  you  been  unfortunate  ?" 

"  'Dade,  thin,  and  have  I.  That  'lection  business  kilt 
me  dead." 

"How  so,  Mr.  Murphy?  We  were  beaten,  it  is  true; 
but  how  did  it  affect  you  personally?" 

"  Mr.  P turned  me  off  for  going  to  the  polls  on 

'lection  day,  and  it's  been  hard  time  wid  me  iver  since,  I 
can  tell  yez." 

"  Turned  you  off,  Mr.  Murphy,  for  voting  your  senti 
ments  as  an  American  citizen !"  exclaimed  R ,  in  well- 
feigned  astonishment. 

"Yis,  it's  just  thot,  Musther  R ,"  said  Murphy 

with  much  feeling.  Already  the  hope  of  making  capital 
for  future  interest  out  of  that  circumstance  was  beginning 
to  form  itself  in  his  mind. 

"  Vile  proscription !  Thus  it  is  that  these  nabobs  of 
our  land  seek,  as  in  the  old  country,  to  bind  the  freo 
consciences  of  the  people,  and  to  trample  on  their  political 
rights.  You  felt  this  in  Ireland,  Mr.  Murphy;  and  it 
was  to  escape  such  tyranny  that  you  left  the  beautiful 
home  of  your  fathers  and  came  to  happy  America.  Shall 
the  heel  of  the  oppressor  be  on  your  neck  here  also? 
Spirit  of  liberty,  forbid  it !  Mr.  Murphy,  we  must  break 
down  this  league  of  the  rich  against  the  poor.  We  can  do 
it,  and  we  will.  In  this  cause  I  have  embarked,  and  I 
will  die  by  it.  What  greater  glory  can  any  man  desire 
than  fro  be  known  as  the  friend  of  the  people  ?" 

"  Nabobs !"  responded  Patrick,  indignantly  taking  the 
cue.  "Yis  !  Vile,  oppressing  nabobs  !  If  I  had  my  will 
o'  them !" 

And  the  Irishman  clenched  his  fist. 

"This  is  rather  a  hard  kind  of  business,  Mr.  Murphy," 

said  R ,  changing  the  subject.     "A  man  like   you 

ought  to  be  doing  something  better  than  carrying  bricks 
up  a  ladder." 

"  'Dade  and  he  ought,  Musther  R ." 

"  Come  round  to  my  house  to-night,  Mr.  Murphy.  I'd 
like  to  have  some  talk  with  you." 

20* 


234  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

"  Yez  lives  in  the  same  place  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Come  about  nine  o'clock.  I  will  be  dis 
engaged  then." 

"  I'll  be  there  to  the  minute,  Musther  R ." 

"Very  well.  And  now,  good  day.  I  rather  think 
we'll  find  you  some  better  work  to  do  than  this." 

All  the  Irishman's  indignation  toward  R ,  so  long 

cherished,  was  gone.  His  next  trip  up  the  ladder  was 
accomplished  in  half  the  time  occupied  in  the  last  ascent ; 
and  when  he  came  down  again,  it  was  "  on  the  run." 

Precisely  at  nine  o'clock,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  suit, 
which  was  not  one  of  particular  elegance,  Patrick  was  at 

Mr.  R 's  beautiful  residence.  He  rang  the  bell,  and, 

almost  instantly,  the  door  was  opened — not  by  a  servant, 
but  by  Mr.  R himself. 

"  Ah,  you're  the  man  after  all,  Mr.  Murphy ;  punctual 
to  the  minute !"  said  he,  grasping  the  Irishman's  hand. 
"  Come  in,  my  good  fellow.  Come  in,"  and  he  almost 
dragged  him  into  the  house. 

In  a  room  in  the  third-story,  to  which  Murphy  was 
conducted,  two  or  three  men  were  found  sitting  at  a  table, 
on  which  were  decanters  and  glasses. 

"Mr.  Murphy,  gentlemen." 

Thus  the  Irishman  was  announced  in  a  manner  the 
most  courteous. 

"Ah,  how  are  you,  my  honest  friend  ?  How  are  you? 
Happy,  indeed,  to  see  you!" 

Such  was  the  words  of  welcome  that  greeted  his  ap 
pearance. 

"Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Murphy,  said  R ,  and  he 

handed  the  Irishman  to  a  seat,  with  an  air  of  deference 
and  courtesy  that  was  particularly  flattering  to  the  easily 
duped  son  of  Erin. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  R ,  after  they  had  all  re 
sumed  their  places  at  the  table  and  taken  a  glass  round, 
"  this  is  the  Mr.  Murphy  of  whom  I  was  speaking  to  you  ; 
an  honest,  hard-working  man,  who  has  been  proscribed 
for  opinion's  sake.  No  man  has  laboured  harder  or  more 
efficiently  in  our  cause  than  he,  and  it  will  be  a  burning 
disgrace  to  our  party — the  party  of  the  people,  the  sworn 
advocate  of  the  oppressed  and  trampled  upon — if  we  let 


THE    ELECTION.  235 

him  suffer  for  his  devotion  to  true  principles.  This  man 
has  a  family,  sir — a  family  to  whom  he  is  dearly  attached, 
and  for  whom  he's  toiling  like  a  galley-slave  at  the  oar. 
Previous  to  the  last  election,  he  had  a  good  situation  and 

a  good  salary  in  the  store  of  P ;  but,  because  he 

worked  in  our  cause,  P turned  him  off  to  starve  with 

his  wife  and  his  little  ones,  for  all  he  cared !" 

"  Impossible !"  exclaimed  the  men  at  the  table,  lifting 
their  hands  in  astonishment.  "  To  think  that  such  a  spirit 
exists  in  our  country  !" 

"  A  spirit,"  resumed  Mr.  R ,  "  that,  if  not  checked, 

will  prostrate  our  liberties  beneath  the  iron  heel  of  oppres 
sion.  What  is  a  poor  man  in  the  eyes  of  one  like  P ? 

Of  less  value  than  his  horse  !  And  he  is  but  the  type  of 
his  party." 

To  this  there  was  a  warm  response  from  all  present. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Murphy,"  resumed  R ,  addressing 

the  Irishman,  "  the  time  has  come  when  another  strong 
effort  must  be  made  to  break  through  the  party  lines  that 
have  been  drawn  by  these  poor-oppressing,  blood-sucking 
aristocrats  !  At  the  last  campaign,  we  drove  them  back, 
and  came  near  routing  them,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons. 
This  time,  if  we  unite  all  our  forces,  victory  is  certain ; 
and  you  know,  my  honest  friend,  that  to  the  victors  belong 
the  spoils.  No  man  did  better  service  to  the  good  cause  at 
the  last  election  than  you,  Mr.  Murphy ;  and  now  that  the 
tug  of  war  is  about  to  come  again,  your  bleeding  country 
calls  upon  you,  and  asks  for  aid.  Shall  she  call  in  vain  ? 
No ;  not  when  her  voice  reaches  the  ears  of  Patrick  Mur 
phy,  the  man  who  has  felt  the  crushing  weight  of  oppres 
sion.  What  say  you,  Mr.  Murphy  ?  Are  you  with  us 
again  ?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  Murphy  instantly  replied  with  en 
thusiasm — 

"  Faix  and  am  I,  Musther  R !  Bad  'cess  till  the 

nabobs  !  I'll  have  it  out  wid  'em  yet." 

"You've  got  the  right  kind  of  stuff  in  you,  I  see,"  re 
marked  one  of  those  present. 

"I'm  an  Irishman,"  said  Murphy  proudly. 

"  And  an  honour  both  to  the  country  of  your  birth  and 
the  country  of  your  adoption,"  responded  R . 


236  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

By  this  time  Murphy  was  fully  prepared  to  enter  into 
the  views  of  the  individual  who  wanted  his  "valuable  aid" 
again.  Flattered  into  blindness,  he  allowed  the  bit  to  be 
once  more  placed  in  his  mouth,  and  bearing  on  the  rein, 
moved  forward  to  the  right  or  the  left,  at  the  will  of  his 
drivers.  It  was  demonstrated  to  him,  with  the  utmost 
clearness,  why  the  party  failed  of  success  at  the  last  cam 
paign,  and  why  it  would  now  be  sure  to  gain  the  victory. 
And  his  reward  was  to  be  a  clerkship  in  the  post-office, 

at  a  salary  of  six  hundred  a  year.  Moreover,  R said 

that  he  must  throw  away  his  hod,  and  come  at  once  into 
the  service  of  the  party.  And,  as  the  labourer  was  worthy 
of  his  hire,  it  was  agreed  to  pay  him  one  dollar  a  day  until 
the  period  of  election  arrived. 

Again  was  Mr.  Murphy  a  man  of  consequence  in  his 
own  eyes.  Higher  ranged  his  -head,  and  more  stately 
was  his  step  as  he  walked  homeward  from  the  house  of 
R .  But  he  was  doomed  to  have  his  ardour  some 
what  cooled;  for  on  announcing  what  had  just  happened, 
to  his  better-half,  Biddy,  that  lady  became  exceedingly 
indignant,  called  him  a  fool,  and  sundry  other  names  of 
like  character,  and  vowed  if  he  got  himself  into  any  more 
trouble  with  his  politics,  she'd  "  take  the  childther  and 
Lsve  him." 

On  the  next  morning,  Murphy  waited  on  Mr.  R 

«»,gain,  according  to  appointment,  when  arrangements  were 
made  for  attending  a  "  Harvest  Home"  to  be  celebrated 
at  a  village  in  the  county  which  embraced  the  district  in 

which  R was  a  candidate  for  election.  There  were 

to  be  present  at  this  assemblage  some  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  party,  with  many  of  whom  Murphy  had  worked 
side  by  side  in  the  last  campaign,  and  he  was  made  to 
believe  that  his  appearance  among  them  would  be  hailed 
with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 

"  We  looked  upon  you  at  the  last  election  as  one  :f 

our  best  men,"  said  R .  "Already  more  than  a 

dozen  old  friends  have  been  inquiring  after  you.  Your 
appearance,  Mr.  Murphy,  will  put  new  life  into  our  peo 
ple,  for  they  know  you  of  old." 

R then  placed  a  five-dollar  bill  in  the  hands  of  the 

Irishman,  as  the  beginning  of  his  pay  in  the  new  service, 


THE    ELECTION.  237 

and  five  more  to  be  used  for  electioneering  purposes 
among  his  own  countrymen.  Particularly  was  he  in 
structed  to  see  to  the  naturalization  of  all  those  who  had 
been  in  the  country  long  enough  to  entitle  them  to  citizen 
ship,  and  to  pay  all  attendant  expenses,  if  a  pledge  was 
given  to  vote  the  party  ticket. 

Again  the  Irishman  began  to  feel  his  own  importance, 
and  to  swell  beyond  his  natural  dimensions.  It  was  night 
before  he  returned  home,  and  then  he  was,  to  use  a  vulgar, 
but  very  expressive  word,  a  little  "groggy."  The  mo 
ment  he  entered,  Biddy  said,  with  some  sharpness  of 
voice — 

"  Pathrick,  ye  convict !  And  where  have  ye  bin  all  the 

day  ?  Musther  P sent  for  yez  this  mornin',  and 

wants  to  see  yez." 

"  Bad  luck  till  Mr.  P !"  returned  Murphy.  «  Bad 

luck  till  him,  I  say !"  and  he  staggered  into  a  seat. 

"Are  ye  crazy,  mon?"  exclaimed  Biddy.  "No  doubt 
Musther  P wants  ye  back  agin  in  his  store." 

"  Bad  'cess  till  him  !  I'll  niver  darken  his  door  agin,  the 
aristocratic,  silk-stockin*  nabob !  Didn't  he  turn  me  aff 
for  votin'  me  sentiments  as  a  free  American  citizen  ? 
Didn't  he,  I  say?  Bad  'cess  till  him,  the  spalpeen!" 

"  Y'r  a  drunken  fool,  that's  what  ye  are !"  said  Biddy, 
in  wrath  uncontrollable.  But,  knowing  how  fruitless  a 
discussion  would  be  with  her  husband  while  under  the 
influence  of  liquor,  she  curbed  her  anger,  and  had  little 
more  to  say  during  the  evening.  But,  on  the  next  morn 
ing,  as  soon  as  Patrick  was  fairly  awake,  she  began — 

"  Pathrick,"  said  she,  "  are  ye  going  till  see  Musther 
p ?" 

"  No,  faix,  and  I  am  not !"  replied  Patrick.  "  I'm  done 

wid  Mr.  P ,  kith  and  kin.  Didn't  he  turn  me  aff  for 

votin'  my  sintiments  ?  Didn't  he  ?  Ay,  fegs  !  And  if  iver 
I  darken  his  door,  it  '11  do  him  good." 

It  was  all  in  vain  that  Biddy  argued,  scolded,  persuaded ; 
her  husband  was  not  to  b6  moved  from  his  resolution. 
There  was  a  better  chance  before  him  than  any  situation 

in  P 's  store.  He  was  to  be  a  clerk  in  the  post-office. 

That  was  settled;  and,  moreover,  up  to  the  period  of 


338  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

election,  was  to  receive  a  dollar  a  day  for  doing  what  was 
equivalent  to  "just  nothing  at  all,  at  all." 

For  three  or  four  days,  Murphy  spent  his  time  idling 
about  taverns,  and  at  night  going  home  in  a  condition 
that  made  all  Biddy's  attempts  to  reach  his  feelings  abor 
tive.  Then  the  time  for  celebrating  the  "Harvest  Home" 

came,  and  he  was  called  for  in  a  carriage  by  R and 

two  other  members  of  the  party.  Such  an  honour  elated 
him  almost  out  of  himself;  and  even  Biddy,  who  knew 
that  her  husband  was  no  uncommon  man,  began  to  think 
him  of  even  greater  importance  than  she  had  yet  ima 
gined. 

The  "Harvest  Home,"  as  it  was  called,  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  political  gathering,  for  the  purpose 
of  gaining  party  influence.  It  was  held  in  a  certain 
neighbourhood  pretty  thickly  settled  with  Emerald  Is 
landers,  and  the  particular  work  Murphy  was  wanted  for 

on  the  occasion  was  to  make  interest  for  R among 

his  countrymen.  A  bullock  was  to  be  roasted,  and  an 
entertainment,  consisting  of  an  abundance  of  things  eat 
able  and  drinkable,  provided. 

When  R arrived  on  the  ground,  accompanied  by 

his  willing  tool,  the  latter  was  introduced  with  all  form 
ality  to  about  a  dozen  substantial  leaders  of  the  party, 
office-expectants,  and  others  personally  interested  in  the 
approaching  election,  who  treated  him  with  the  most 
marked  attention,  asked  him  to  drink  with  them,  and 
talked  to  him  as  if  he  were  an  individual  of  the  first  im 
portance. 

"  Welcome  back  among  your  friends  ?"  said  one. 

"  Ah,  my  old  friend  Murphy,"  said  another,  "  you  are 
just  the  man  I've  been  wanting  to  see.  How  are  you  ? 
How  are  you?"  And  he  shook  the  Irishman's  hand  half 
off. 

"Here's  Mr.  Murphy  again!"  exclaimed  another. 
"  Why,  bless  me  !  I'm  as  glad  to  see  you  as  if  I'd  found 
a  guinea !" 

And  so  the  changes  were  rung,  and  Murphy  believed 
that  all  he  heard  was  true.  In  return  for  the  cordial  wel 
come  received,  and  the  honour  bestowed  upon  him  at  this 
reunion  with  the  party,  Murphy  went  to  work  in  good 


THE    ELECTION.  239 

earnest,  cheered  on  every  now  and  then  by  some  one  of 
the  leaders,  with  flattering  words  of  encouragement  like 
the  following — 

"  You're  the  man,  Mr.  Murphy !"    Or — 

"  Ah/ my  fine  fellow  !  If  we  had  a  little  army  of  such 
as  you,  we'd  sweep  the  nation !"  Or — 

"  Talk  to  them,  Murphy.  That's  you !  The  best  man 
among  us !" 

Never  did  Patrick  Murphy  work  harder  at  cellar-dig 
ging  or  hod-carrying  than  on  this  occasion,  in  his  efforts 
to  make  converts  to  the  "cause  of  the  people;"  and 
between  arguing,  persuading,  drinking,  quarrelling,  and 
such  other  efforts  with  his  countrymen,  he  was  so  much 
overcome  by  sundown  that  his  political  friends  had  to 
send  him  home  to  his  wife  Biddy,  in  a  furniture  wagon. 
As  he  was  not  in  a  condition  to  feel  the  honour  attendant 

on  a  ride  with  R in  his  carriage,  such  an  honour  was 

not  wasted  upon  him. 

On  the  next  day,  Mr.  Murphy  had  a  shocking  bad  head 
ache,  and  was  so  sick  and  so  much  exhausted  that  he  kept 
his  bed  until  toward  night,  when  he  sallied  forth,  and 
took  his  way  to  McPhelin's  tavern,  where  he  spent  the 
evening  in  drinking,  talking  politics,  and  "  going  his 

death  for  R ,"  whom  he  did  not  hesitate  to  declare, 

"  A  jontilman,  ivery  inch,  and  a  raal  friend  o'  the  hard 
working  paple  !" 

About  twelve  o'clock,  he  staggered  homeward,  carry 
ing  with  him  a  black-eye  and  sundry  bruises  from  hard 
fists  on  other  parts  of  his  body;  the  effects  of  which  he 
did  not  get  over  for  a  week. 

Thus,  for  a  whole  month,  did  Murphy  serve  the  cause 
of  the  people,  receiving  his  dollar  a  day,  besides  money  to 
use  "judiciously,"  in  treating  and  in  other  ways  con 
trolling  the  votes  of  the  "better  class  of  citizens,"  whom 
he  was  specially  chosen  to  influence.  As  the  election-day 
approached,  he  became  busier  and  busier,  and  finally  was 
placed  in  charge  of  a  "  colony"  of  drunken  vagabonds 
who  would  vote  either  way  for  a  glass  of  grog.  There 
were  twenty  of  these,  and  he  had  them  locked  up  in  the 
loft  of  an  old  warehouse  for  two  or  three  days,  supplying 
them  with  as  much  as  they  could  eat  and  drink  all  the 


240  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

time,  and  generally  managing  to  keep  them  too  drunk  to 
run  away,  even  if  they  should  manage  to  escape  from  their 
prison. 

The  particular  work  of  Murphy,  on  the  election-day, 
was  to  bring  to  the  polls  these  vagabond  voters,  and  as 
many  others  as  he  could  drum  up.  To  this  end,  he  was 
supplied  with  a  carriage  and  ten  dollars  to  treat  with. 
Faithfully  did  he  perform  his  part,  even  to  the  injunction 

"Mr.  Murphy,  mind !  you  must  keep  sober  to-day." 

"  Gloriously"  the  voting  went  on  from  the  time  the 
polls  opened  until  their  closing  at  six  o'clock. 

It  was  twelve  when  Patrick  Murphy  burst  into  the 
room  where  Biddy  sat  mending  the  tattered  jacket  of  her 
eldest  hopeful,  swinging  his  cap  about  his  head,  and 
crying — 

"  We've  bate  !  we've  bate  !  Biddy,  me  darlint !  Hur 
rah  for  R and  the  cause  of  the  paple !  Hurrah ! 

Hurrah!" 

'"Hish!  hish!  Patrick,  now!  Ye'll  wake  the  childther, 
and  alarm  the  whole  neighbourhood !" 

But  Patrick  was  too  intensely  delighted  at  the  great 
result  achieved  to  care  for  such  trifles.  Seizing  Biddy  in 
his  arms,  he  swung  her  round  as  lightly  as  if  she  had  been 
a  strip  of  a  girl — and  Biddy  was  not  a  baby  in  size — re 
peating  the  wrords — 

"  We've  bate  !  We've  bate,  darlint !  And  now  for  the 
swate  little  corner  in  the  post-affice,  and  silks  and  satins 
for  Mrs.  Murphy  !  Ha !  what  do  yez  think  of  that,  honey  ? 
Pathrick  Murphy  knew  what  he  was  about !" 

But  we  must  leave  the  reader  to  imagine  the  rest  of 
this  scene.  The  party  whose  cause  Patrick  had  espoused 
were  the  victors,  sure  enough.  They  had  routed  their 
opponents,  in  the  common  and  expressive  phrase  used  ou 
such  occasions,  "  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons." 

Next  for  the  sequel. 


242 


Abandons  the  Party  in  Disgust. 


THE    ELECTION.  243 


PART  IV. 


n 


"THE  victory  gained,  now  for  the  spoils."  If  these 
very  words  were  not  used  by  some  hundreds  of  the 
country's  "  devoted  friends"  on  the  morning  that  followed 
election-day,  it  was  not  because  no  such  thought  was  in 
their  hearts.  As  for  Mr.  Murphy,  he  arose  from  his  bed 

a  proud  man.  Through  his  important  aid — of  this,  R 

and  others  had  assured  him  over  and  over  again — the 
great  victory  had  been  achieved ;  and  he,  of  course,  was 
sure  of  his  reward. 

"The  fact  is,  Biddy,  darlint,"  said  he,  as  he  sat  over 
his  potatoes  and  coffee — the  dollar  a  day  had  not  sup 
plied  as  many  wants  as  it  should  have  done — "the  fact 
is,  I  don't  belave  it's  jist  right  till  put  me  aff  wid  a  beg 
garly  place  in  the  post-affice,  at  five  or  six  hundred  a 
year.  A  man  who  has  sarved  the  party  as  I  have,  de- 
sarves  better  thratement  nor  that,  so  he  does." 

"  Plaze  goodness  !"  responded  Biddy,  in  a  voice  slightly 
troubled,  "  and  I'd  be  thankful  for  thot,  and  niver  think  o' 
callin'  it  beggarly.  Yez  got  y'r  idess  a  little  too  elevated, 
Pathrick." 

"  Niver  a  bit,  troth  !  I  knows  me  desarvins,  and  I'll 
git  them.  They'll  not  put  me  aff  wid  the  crumbs  o'  the 
table,  I  can  tell  them." 

"  Have  yez  ony  money,  Pathrick  ?"  asked  Biddy. 

"  Niver  a  rid  cint,  darlint.  I  spent  ivery  farthin'  yes 
terday  in  buyin'  up  the  votes ;  but  I'll  see  Musther  R 

the  mornin'." 

"  But  will  he  pay  yez  ony  thing  more,  now  that  'lection 
is  over,  Pathrick  ?" 


244 


BEFORE    AND    AFTER 


"  And  why  not,  sure  ?  Isn't  he  under  an  iverlastin* 
debt  o'  gratitude  to  me  ?  Didn't  he  say  that  if  I'd  do 
me  duty  as  he  knew  that  I  could  do  it,  he'd  niver  forget 
me  while  the  hreath  was  in  his  mortal  body?" 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  for  dinner  the  day,  Pathrick  ? 
There  isn't  a  loaf  of  bread  nor  a  petatee  more  in  the 
house.  The  childther  must  have  food." 

"  Oeh  !  And  can't  yez  jist  git  a  little  thrust  at  Mrs. 
Mulligan's  for  the  day  ?  I'll  git  plinty  o'  money  when  I 
see  Musther  R ." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Biddy.  "  We  owe  four  dollars 
there  now ;  and  Mrs.  Mulligan  said,  the  last  time  I  was 
there,  that  I  needn't  come  for  ony  more  thrust  till  the 
ould  score  was  paid  afF." 

"  Och !  Bad  'cess  till  her  stingy  ould  soul !  But  do 
you  tell  her,  Biddy,  darlint,  that  we've  bate  the  bloody 
nabobs,  and  that  I'm  to  have  an  affice,  and  that  we're 
goin'  to  have  hapes  o'  money,  and  that  we'll  dale  with  her 
for  ivery  thing.  Jist  say  all  that,  Biddy,  and  she'll  open 
her  store  till  yez." 

Biddy  was  not  so  sanguine,  however,  and  doubted  the 
effect  of  this  particular  mode  of  argumentation ;  where 
upon  Patrick  called  her  an  old  fool,  and  started  from  the 
table  in  disgust. 

After  scraping  off  his  wiry  beard,  and  sprucing  himself 
up  as  well  as  he  could,  Murphy  sallied  forth  about  nine 
o'clock  to  meet  his  fellow-victors,  and  rejoice  with  them 
over  the  party  triumph.  To  headrquarters  he  repaired, 

in  hopes  of  meeting  R .  Dozens  he  found  assembled 

there,  who,  like  himself,  had  come  to  seek  for  some  par 
ticular  leader  or  leaders,  and  who  were  ready  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  and  exchange  congratulations  on  the 
"glorious  victory."  But  all  this  shaking  of  hands 
amounted  to  nothing.  It  put  no  money  in  the  empty 
pocket  of  our  friend  Murphy. 

"Have  yez  seen  R ?"  he  inquired  of  one  and 

another. 

Some  had  seen  the  successful  candidate  and  some  had 
not.  Of  one  individual  to  whom  his  inquiry  was  extended, 
he  received  in  reply  this  interrogation — 


THE    ELECTION.  245 

?  and  pray  what  do  you  want  with  him  ?  An 
office  already,  Pat  Murphy!" 

"Do  yez  mane  to  insult  me?"  responded  Murphy 
angrily. 

"  Oh  no  !"  laughed  the  other.  "But  I'd  like  to  give 
you  a  piece  of  good  advice." 

"  Wull,  and  what  is  it  ?"  inquired  Murphy,  evincing  no 
little  impatience. 

"Why,  just  this,  my  friend: — If  you've  got  any  work 
to  do,  go  and  do  it,  and  be  thankful." 

"What  do  yez  mane?"  Pat's  fists  were  clenched  in 
voluntarily.  This  was  an  insult  he  could  ill  bear. 

"I  mean,"  was  replied,  "that  you  will  find  it  more 
profitable  than  running  after  an  elected  candidate,  or 

seeking  for  an  office.  R don't  care  three  buttons  for 

you,  now  that  he's  gained  the  day." 

Just  at  this  moment,  R entered  the  room,  and 

passed  so  close  to  the  Irishman  as  almost  to  rub  against 
him.  Pat  started  forward,  extending  his  hand,  and  say 
ing,  in  a  voice  of  exultation — 

"  Me  congratulations,  Musther  R !" 

But,  from  some  cause,  R did  not  hear  the  Irish 
man's  voice,  nor  recognise  his  person ;  and  he  was  so 
quickly  surrounded  by  his  many  "friends"  that  Murphy 
could  not  get  near  him.  This  fact,  connected  with  the 
"  good  advice"  he  had  just  received,  threw  rather  a 
damper  upon  the  poor  fellow's  feelings.  This  state  of  mind 
was  not  improved  by  the  several  ineffectual  attempts 

made  to  obtain  an  interview  with  R ,  who  was  too 

much  engaged  with  other  and  more  congenial  spirits  to 
think  or  care  for  an  obscure  Irishman,  whom  he  had 
duped  into  becoming  an  efficient  tool  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  his  ends. 

With  troubled  feelings,  Murphy  at  length  saw  R 

depart.  He  followed  him  out  quickly,  and  forcing  his 
way  up  to  the  carriage  which  stood  at  the  door,  and  into 
which  R had  just  entered,  said,  in  a  somewhat  agi 
tated  voice — 

"Musther  R !    Can  I  jist  get  a  'spakin'  till  yez?" 

"  To  Colonel  L ~'s,"  said  R to  the  driver,  as  if 

he  had  not  heard  Murphy.  Then,  waving  his  hand  to  the 

21* 


246  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

little  crowd  on  the  pavement,  and  bowing  and  smiling,  aa 
the  driver  spoke  to  the  horses,  he  swept  away,  with  as 
little  thought  or  care  for  the  poor  Irishman  as  if  he  had 
been  one  of  the  bricks  in  the  pavement.  Crest-fallen, 
and  with  a  heavy  weight  on  his  feelings,  Murphy  walked 

slowly  away.  Still,  he  was  willing  to  believe  that  R • 

had  not  recognised  him,  and  that  so  soon  as  he  could 
obtain  an  interview,  every  thing  would  be  done  that  he 
desired.  He  did  not  go  home  at  dinner-time  ;  for  he  was 
afraid  to  meet  Biddy  with  his  empty  pockets  and  no 
prospects  of  filling  them  ahead.  And  as  he  had  not,  to 
use  his  own  words,  "a  rid  cint  to  bless  himself  wid,"  he 
was  compelled  to  go  without  food  until  his  return  in  the 
evening. 

In  going  from  place  to  place,  familiar  during  the  pro 
gress  of  the  canvass,  and  in  meeting  certain  individuals 
with  whom  he  had  been  hand  and  glove  for  weeks,  he 
found  that  he  was  a  man  of  far  less  consequence  than 
before.  Instead  of  cordial  greetings  and  fine  compli 
ments,  a  cold  "How  are  you,  Murphy?"  "Still  loafing 
about,  Pat  ?"  or  some  such  address,  met  him  at  every  turn. 
Occasionally,  an  individual  about  as  important  as  himself 
would  seize  his  hand  and  half  wring  it  off.  But  he  would 
have  willingly  dispensed  with  these  particular  congratu 
latory  manifestations. 

About  three  o'clock,  Murphy  repaired  to  the  residence 

of  R ,  and  sent  his  name  in  by  the  servant,  who 

brought  back  word  that  the  gentleman  was  particularly 
engaged. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  the  Irishman,  "  that  Mr.  Murphy 
would  jist  like  to  spake  wan  word  wid  him.  Jist  wan 
word  and  no  more — and  won't  kape  him  a  minute." 

The  servant  went  back,  and,  after  a  rather  prolonged 
absence,  returned  and  asked  Murphy  to  walk  in. 

"  Take  a  seat.  Mr.  R will  be  down  in  a  little 

while,"  said  the  servant,  as  he  opened  one  of  the  parlour 
doors  and  motioned  the  Irishman  to  enter. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed,  and  then  R made 

his  appearance.  His  face  did  not  wear  a  very  cordial 
aspect.  It  is  true,  there  was  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  but 
it  was  a  forced  smile,  fading  quickly. 


THE   ELECTION.  Li 

"Well,  my  good  friend,"  said  he  coldly,  "what  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

He  did  not  even  say  "  Mr.  Murphy." 

The  Irishman  was  chilled  by  the  manner  of  R ,  and 

felt  himself  strongly  repulsed. 

"  I've  worked  hard  for  yez,"  said  Pathrick,  in  a  humble 
voice. 

"  You  did  your  duty  to  the  good  cause ;  I'll  give  you 
credit  for  that,  friend  Murphy;  and  you'll  get  your  re 
ward." 

"  But  how  soon,  Musther  R ?" 

"All  in  good  time — all  in  good  time,"  was  answered, 
with  some  impatience. 

"  Ye  knows,  Musther  R ,  that  I  gave  up  my  site- 

ation" — 

"  At  hod-carrying  ?  Oh  yes,  I  remember.  Well,  Pat, 
you've  had  a  pretty  easy  time  of  it  for  a  couple  of  months, 
and  can  go  to  work  now  with  more  spirit,  sustained  as 
you  will  be  by  the  reflection  that  you  have  served  your 
adopted  country  like  a  good  and  true  citizen." 

"But  I  gave  up  my  siteation,  Musther  R ,"  said 

the  Irishman,  in  a  distressed  tone  of  voice. 

"You  must  find  another,  then,  my  friend.  You  can't 
expect  to  live  in  idleness.  Every  man  must  work  to 
live." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  stinging  rebuke. 

"I'm  not  afraid  to  work,"  returned  Murphy.  "But 
I've  got  no  work.  You  promised  me" 

"  Office-hunting  already  !  Why,  don't  you  know,  man, 
that  I  shall  not  take  my  seat  in  Congress  for  a  year  ? 
I'm  still  only  a  private  citizen." 

"  A  year  !"  stammered  Murphy  in  a  husky  voice.  "A 
year,  did  yez  say?" 

"  Certainly  I  did.  The  member's  term,  in  whose  place 
I  have  been  elected,  doesn't  expire  until  the  close  of  the 
present  Congress.  When  I  take  my  seat  next  fall,  I  will 
do  all  I  can  for  you.  But,  until  that  time,  you  must  go 
to  work  like  an  honest,  industrious  citizen.  Your  reward 
will  come  ;  never  fear." 

Murphy  had  arisen  from  his  chair  when  R entered 


248  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

the  room,  and  was  still  standing  on  the  floor,  the  member 
elect  not  having  invited  him  to  resume  his  seat. 

"And  now,"  said  the  latter,  "you  must  excuse  me.  I 
have  several  friends  in  waiting." 

And  he  bowed  in  a  way  that  said  "Be  off!"  almost  as 
distinctly  as  if  he  had  given  utterance  to  the  words. 

Confounded  and  utterly  cast  down  under  a  sense  of 
mortification  and  distress,  the  Irishman  turned  away  and 
retired  in  silence. 

"  Remember,  William,"  he  heard  R say  to  his  waiter, 

as  he  was  passing  to  the  door,  speaking  with  some  anger, 
"  I'm  not  at  home  to  any  of  these  fellows." 

Outside  of  the  door,  as  he  opened  it,  Murphy  found  two 
men  of  his  own  class,  one  of  whom  said — 

"  Can  I  see  Mr.  R ?" 

"He  is  not  at  home,"  said  the  servant,  appearing  at 
the  moment. 

"  When  will  he  be  in  ?"  was  inquired. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  was  answered,  and  the  door  was  shut  in 
the  man's  face. 

"It's  a  bloody  lie!"  said  Murphy  indignantly,  half  to 
himself  and  half  aloud. 

"  He  is  in,  then  ?"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men. 

"He's  jist  that!" 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"Yis." 

"Well?" 

"  And  got  a  bit  of  cowld  comfort  for  me  pains ;  jist 
what  ye'll  git,  if  ye'r  after  ony  favours." 

And,  with  this  he  turned  away,  in  no  very  pleasant 
mood  of  mind.  As  he  was  walking  along,  with  his  head 
6owed  down  and  his  eyes  upon  the  pavement,  some  one 
said — 

"  Hi,  Patrick  !  is  this  you?" 

On  looking  up  he  recognised  one  of  the  clerks  in  Mr. 
P 's  store. 

"Where  have  you  been  keeping  yourself,  Patrick ? 
We  spent  a  whole  week  some  time  ago  in  trying  to  find 
you." 

"Indade!" 

"Yes.     The  man  we  got  in  your  place  turned  out 


THE    ELECTION.  249 

badly.  We  changed  two  or  three  times,  and  then  Mr. 

P thought  he'd  give  you  another  trial,  if  you  wers 

inclined  to  make  a  change.  He'd  seen  you  at  work  carry 
ing  bricks  and  mortar,  and  said  he  couldn't  help  pitying 
you." 

"  I'm  obleeged  till  him  for  his  kindness,"  repled  Mur 
phy,  at  once  elated  in  prospect  of  a  return  to  his  old 

place.  "Mr.  P is  a  jontilman,  I  must  say;  and  I 

was  a  fool  iver  to  have  left  his  employ.  I'll  go  back 
wid  pleasure." 

"Ah,  but,  Patrick,"  replied  the  young  man,  in  a  tone 
of  regret,  "it  is  too  late  now.  We  couldn't  find  you,  and 
so  filled  the  place  with  another  man,  who  is  all  that  we 
could  want." 

"  It's  all  bad  luck !"  exclaimed  the  Irishman,  in  a  voice 
of  distress.  "  I've  a  mind  to  go  and  'thrown  meself." 

"  But  where  were  you,  Pathrick  ?  We  left  word  at  your 
house  for  you  to  come  round  to  the  store." 

"Where  was  I,  d'ye  say?  Faix,  and  I  was  mindin' 
other  paple's  business  instid  o'  me  ane." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yis.  I  was  promotin'  the  election  of  R ,  bad  'cess 

till  him  !" 

"  Ho  !  ho  !"  laughed  the  young  man,  in  spite  of  the 
sadness  of  the  Irishman's  face.  "  Well,  you  are  a  fool ! 
What  good  did  you  expect  to  gain  from  his  election." 

"  He  promised  me  a  siteation  in  the  post-affice  ?" 

"  Did  he  ?  That's  rich  !  What  has  he  to  do  with  the 
post-office?" 

"  I  do'no'.  But  he  promised  that  I  should  be  re 
warded." 

"  As  he  promised  two  or  three  hundred  besides,  as  big 
fools  as  you  are.  He'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  post- 
office.  In  fact,  he  won't  take  his  seat  in  Congress  for  over 
a  year  ;  and  then  his  influence,  if  he  have  any,  will  not  go 
in  your  favour.  He's  got  too  many  others  to  reward  with 
the  few  crumbs  it  may  be  in  his  power  to  dispense." 

The  Irishman  groaned,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Good-morning,  Patrick,"  said  the  clerk.  "And  take 
with  you  this  piece  of  good  advice :  never  put  any  faith 


250  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

in  the  promises  of  a  politician,  made  on  the  eve  of  an 
election,  for  he'll  be  sure  to  deceive  you." 

With  this,  the  young  man  moved  on,  and  the  Irishman 
was  left  still  sadder  than  before. 

Of  the  toil  and  struggle  through  which  the  humbled 
Patrick  Murphy,  again  shrunk  down  to  his  real  dimen 
sions,  passed  during  the  long,  hard  winter  that  followed, 
and  Qf  the  sufferings  endured  by  his  poorly  clothed, 
warmed,  and  fed,  wife  and  children,  we  will  not  speak. 
They  were  severe  enough.  In  the  spring  he  went  back 
to  cellar-digging  and  hod-carrying,  at  which  he  worked 
until  fall,  when  he  was  sought  for  again  by  his  old  political 
friends,  who  knew  the  value  of  his  services,  and  was  again 
wheedled  by  promises  into  taking  the  bit  into  his  mouth. 
This  time,  however,  he  was  a  little  wiser,  and  took  care 
not  to  neglect  his  daily  work.  In  the  spring,  a  new  party, 
triumphant  at  this  election,  were  to  come  into  power,  and 
Murphy,  a  little  better  instructed  than  before,  now  under 
stood  that  he  must  wait  a  few  months  before  the  time 
came  for  a  distribution  of  political  favours  in  the  shape 
of  comfortable  offices;  so  he  wisely  accepted,  for  the 
winter,  the  place  of  coal-heaver  in  a  coal-yard. 

March  at  length  came  around,  and  a  new  party  came 
into  power.  Then  followed  a  general  system  of  removals 
from  office,  and  the  appointment  of  new  men.  Murphy's 
time  had  at  length  come.  There  was  a  broad  gleam  of 
daylight  ahead  of  him,  and  his  heart  beat  high  again  with 
anticipation.  He  was  an  applicant  for  office,  and  pressed 
in  among  the  crowd,  eager  as  any  to  secure  the  reward 
of  party  service.  At  first,  his  ambition  led  him  to  select 
the  post  of  inspector  of  the  customs ;  then  he  changed 
from  that  to  a  clerk  in  the  post-office ;  and  afterward  to  a 
letter-carrier.  But  as  he  could  get  no  one  to  sign  him  a 
recommendation  to  either  of  these  places,  he,  upon  the 
advice  of  one  for  whose  opinion  he  had  some  respect,  filed 
an  application  for  the  situation  of  night  inspector,  or,  in 
other  words,  custom-house  watchman.  The  running,  coax 
ing,  begging,  and  all  manner  of  humiliation  attendant  on 
getting  up  his  recommendations,  were  painful  to  even 
Murphy's  rather  obtuse  sensibilities,  and  he  more  than 
once  felt  like  giving  up  the  effort  in  disgust,  and  falling 


THE    ELECTION.  251 

back,  for  life,  upon  honest,  independent  labour.  As  the 

signature  of  R ,  the  party  member  to  Congress,  was 

considered  of  importance,  Murphy  strove  hard  to  get  it. 
R ,  with  whom,  after  various  trials,  he  at  length  ob 
tained  an  interview,  promised  him  all  his  influence  to 
secure  him  the  place  he  wanted,  and  said  that  he  would 
make  it  his  business  to  see  the  collector  in  his  behalf  that 
very  day.  (He  had  made  the  same  promise  to  about  sixty 
or  seventy  different  office-seekers.)  Murphy  asked  his 

signature  to  his  recommendation ;  but  this  R declined 

giving,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  called  on  every  hour 
for  such  certificates,  and  that  he  could  not  sign  all,  and, 
therefore,  signed  none.  It  was  in  vain  that  Murphy 

urged  his  valuable  aid  in  securing  R 's  election  ;  the 

member  could  not  be  brought  to  sign  the  paper,  and  the 
Irishman  went  away  with  some  righteous  indignation  in 
his  heart. 

Still,  for  all  this,  through  singular  good  fortune,  Mur 
phy  got  the  appointment  he  sought,  and  felt  that  he  was 
"a  made  man."  In  his  elation,  he  was  stimulated  by 
certain  individuals  that  were  instantly  attracted  around 
him,  to  give  his  "friends"  a  regular  "  blow  out."  So  he 
invited  them  to  a  supper  at  McPhelin's  tavern,  a  place  for 
which  he  had  a  particular  regard. 

Some  twenty  choice  spirits  responded  to  this  invitation, 
and  not  only  ate  and  drank  the  oysters  and  brandy  he 
had  provided,  but  ordered  champagne  and  sherry  by  the 
dozen ;  and,  in  conclusion,  broke  up  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning  by  breaking  all  the  furniture  in  the  room. 

Sober  and  serious  was  Patrick  Murphy  on  the  next 
morning — Patrick  Murphy,  newly  appointed  night  inspec 
tor  to  the  custom-house,  with  a  salary  of  five  hundred  a 
year.  On  that  day  he  was  to  enter  upon  the  duties  of  his 
office ;  or,  rather  on  the  evening  following  that  day. 
Touching  the  doings  of  the  night  before  he  did  not  feel 
very  comfortable.  McPhelin's  bill  for  the  supper  would, 
he  was  afraid,  be  larger  than  he  intended  to  make  it ; 
and  then  the  breakage  of  furniture  might  give  him 
trouble. 

All  was  quiet  for  about  a  week,  during  which  time 
Murphy  discharged  his  duties  as  an  officer  faithfully,  and 


252  BEFORE    AND    AFTER 

kept  away  from  McPhelin's.  But  the  evil  in  search  of  ug 
is  sure  to  find  us  out.  McPhelin's  bill  came  at  last,  and 
proved  to  Murphy  worse  than  all  his  fears.  It  stood 
thus — 

For  supper  and  wines $40 

For  breakage  of  furniture 30 

"$70 

Poor  Murphy,  already  in  debt  some  eighty  or  ninety 
dollars,  besides  two  quarters'  back  rent,  the  result  of  his 
electioneering  diversions,  was  confounded  by  such  an  un 
expected  bill.  But  there  was  no  evading  it.  He  had 
ordered  the  supper,  and  under  his  sanction  the  wines  had 
been  added.  Moreover,  the  party  introduced  by  him 
had  broken  the  landlord's  furniture,  for  which  he  very 
confidently  demanded  payment. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  receipt  of  this  document,  the 
Irishman  sat  alone  in  one  of  the  offices  attached  to  the 
custom-house,  meditating  on  what  he  had  gained  and  lost 
by  politics,  and  feeling  in  no  very  elevated  frame  of 
mind,  when  the  messenger  came  in  and  handed  him  a 
letter.  He  broke  the  seal  and  read,  with  dismay,  his 
dismissal  from  office,  ample  testimony  having  been  re 
ceived  at  the  "Department,"  so  said  the  communication, 
"  that  he  was  a  drunken  turbulent  fellow,  and  not  to  be 
trusted  by  the  government,  which  sought  for  sober,  orderly 
men  to  fill  its  responsible  stations." 

This  was  too  much  for  Patrick  Murphy  to  bear  patiently. 
Here  was  the  result,  after  between  two  and  three  years* 
devotion  of  himself  to  party  interests.  Thus  was  he  re 
warded  !  A  pleasant  morsel  placed  before  his  eager  lips, 
and  then  drawn  hastily  away !  In  the  excitement  and 
indignation  of  the  moment,  he  tore  his  dismissal  from 
office  into  a  hundred  pieces ;  and  then,  seizing  a  chair,  as 
his  frenzy  increased,  dashed  to  fragments  a  plaster  bust 
of  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  nation  that  stood  the  only 
witness  to  his  disgrace. 


"Murphy,  my  good  fellow,  how  are  you?"  exclaimed 
an  old  party  leader  and  driver,  who  had  obtained  good 


THE    ELECTION.  253 

service  out  of  the  Irishman  in  former  times.     This  was  at 
the  opening  of  the  next  political  canvass. 

Murphy,  when  thus  addressed,  was  standing  in  front 

of  P 's  store,  back  into  which  snug  quarters  he  had 

found  his  way  again. 

"Purty  well,  I  thank  yez,"  returned  the  Irishman 
coldly. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  now  ?"  said  the  other,  not 
seeming  to  notice  the  indifference  with  which  he  was  re 
ceived. 

"  Fust-rate,"  answered  Patrick  laconically. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it.  No  man  deserves  good  fortune  if  you 
do  not.  Well,  you  see,  election  time  is  coming  round 
again." 

"Indade." 

"  A  time  when  every  good  citizen  is  expected  to  do  his 
duty." 

"  I  did  my  duty  wanst,  and  what" 

"  That  you  did,  Mr.  Murphy,  as  hundreds  can  testify," 
interrupted  the  other. 

"  Humph!  I  know  thot  as  wull  as  ony  body." 

"We  want  to  see  you  down  at  head-quarters  to-night," 
said  the  man,  now  laying  his  hand  familiarly  on  Murphy's 
shoulder.  "  We  can't  do  without  your  valuable  aid." 

"Be  dad,  and  yez  won't  see  me  there!"  returned 
Patrick,  showing  his  teeth  and  knitting  his  great  shaggy 
brows. 

"  Why  not,  my  honest  friend  ?"  inquired  the  party 
leader. 

"  Don't  honest  frind  me,  if  ye  plaze  !  I'se  abandoned 
yez  all  in  disgust,  so  I  have,  bad  'cess  till  y'r  politics ! 
They're  only  got  up  to  chate  and  desave  the  honest,  hard- 
workin'  paple  into  votin'  for  nabobs,  who  don't  care  a 
ha'pence  for  them." 

"  But,  my  friend  Murphy,"  began  the  other,  in  a  sooth- 
ing  voice. 

"  Yez  nadent  frind  me,"  quickly  retorted  the  Irishman. 
"  It'll  do  no  good.  A  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire.  I'se 
got  enough  of  politics.  So  good  mornin'  till  yez." 

And  with  this  the  "  disgusted"  elector  turned  away 
and  marched  into  the  store.  The  man,  half-amused  and 

22 


254      BEFORE    AND    AFTER    THE    ELECTION. 

half-angry,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  in  after  Murphy, 
and  then  moved  on,  saying  to  himself  as  he  did  so — 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !  He  isn't  so  green  as  I  thought 
him.  Well,  we  must  fill  his  place  with  some  Green  Is 
lander  of  a  later  importation.  There  are  plenty  of  them 
about  ready  to  be  caught.  I  guess  we  can  spare  him." 

And  with  this  consolation,  the  party  leader  went  on  his 
way.  Doubtless  he  found  it  an  easy  matter  to  fill  the 
gap  left  by  Murphy's  breach  from  the  traces ;  for,  we  say 
it  more  in  sorrow  than  in  levity,  "  all  the  fools  are  not 
dead  yet." 


The  Love  Letter 


THE  LOVE-LETTER. 


ANDY  CAVENDER  was  a  sad  trifler  in  his  way.  There 
was  scarcely  a  maiden  in  the  village  to  whom  he  had  not 
made  love  at  one  time  or  another,  and  all  as  a  plea 
sant  piece  of  pastime;  not  seeming  to  understand  that 
maiden's  hearts  were  tender  things,  and  liable  to  be  hurt 
in  the  handling. 

Many  tears  had  he  caused  to  flow  from  beautiful  eyes, 
yet,  if  he  knew  of  the  fact,  it  did  not  appear  to  give  him 
serious  concern.  There  was  always  a  smile  on  his  lip  and 
a  light  word  on  his  tongue. 

At  last,  however,  Andy's  heart  received  an  impression. 
The  image  of  a  fair  young  girl  rested  upon  it ;  not  as  of 
old,  like  the  image  in  a  speculum,  to  pass  with  the  object, 
but  like  the  sun-fixed  image  of  the  Daguerreotype. 
Strange  fact!  the  fickle,  light-hearted  Andy  Cavender 
in  love ;  really  and  truly  in  love. 

There  had  come  to  Woodland,  to  pass  a  few  months 
during  the  warm  summer-time,  a  city  maiden,  whose 
charms  were  too  potent  for  the  village  flirt.  She  came, 
he  saw,  and  was  conquered.  It  was  soon  plain  to  every 
one  that  it  was  all  over  with  Andy  Cavender.  Kate — the 
lively,  witty,  darling  Kate  Archer  had  subdued  him  with 
her  charms,  though  all  unconscious  herself  of  the  conquest 
she  had  made. 

But  others  saw  what  she  perceived  not,  and  looked  on 
curious  for  the  issue. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this,  Jenny  ?"  said  Kate  Archer, 
one  day.  to  the  young  friend  with  whom  she  was  spending 

22*  257 


258  THE    LOVE-LETTER. 

her  summer  in  the  country,  and  she  laughed  as  she  spoke, 
at  the  same  time  holding  up  a  letter. 

"News  from  home?"  remarked  Jenny,  smiling. 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !    It's  a  love-letter." 

"What!" 

"  A  real  righty  love-letter,  and,  as  they  say,  nothing 
else.  Oh  dear !  To  think  that  I  should  have  made  a, 
conquest  already!" 

"  A  love-letter,  Kate  ?  Well,  here  is  an  adventure, 
sure  enough  !  Whose  heart  have  you  broken  ?" 

"You  shall  see  and  hear  for  yourself,"  replied  the 
laughing  girl.  Then,  as  she  unfolded  the  letter,  she  put 
on  a  grave  countenance,  and,  opening  the  pages  to  the 
eyes  of  her  friend,  read  aloud — 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  ARCHER  : — Will  you  permit  one  who, 
from  the  moment  he  saw  you,  became  an  ardent  admirer, 
to  lay  his  heart  at  your  feet  ?  Until  you  appeared  in  our 
quiet  village,  no  maiden  had  passed  before  me  who  had 
power  to  win  my  love.  But,  from  the  moment  I  saw  you, 
I  no  longer  had  control  over  my  affections.  They  flew  to 
you  like  a  bird  to  its  mate.  You  cannot  but  have  observed, 
in  all  our  recent  meetings,  that  I  regarded  you  with  more 
than  a  common  interest,  and  I  have  permitted  myself  to 
believe  that  you  read  the  language  of  my  eyes,  and  under 
stood  its  meaning.  You  did  not  turn  from  me ;  you  did 
not  look  coldly  on  me.  Have  I  erred  in  believing  that 
your  heart  responded  to  the  warm  emotions  of  my  own  ? 
I  trust  not.  If  it  be  so,  then  am  I  of  all  men  most 
miserable.  I  will  wait,  with  trembling  and  impatient 
hope,  your  answer  to  this. 

"  Tenderly  and  faithfully  yours, 

"ANDREW  CAVENDER." 

"Now,  Jenny,  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  that:"  said 
Kate,  gayly,  as  she  folded  up  her  letter.  "  Haven't  I 
made  a  real  conquest?" 

"  Andy  Cavender  !    Well,  that  beats  every  thing  !" 
"None  of  your  country  maidens  for  him,"   laughed 
Kate.     "  He  must  have  a  city  belle." 


THE    LOVE-LET  TEE.  259 

"  Country  maidens !  He's  made  love  to  every  good- 
looking  girl  within  ten  miles  round." 

"He!" 

"  Yes.    There's  no  counting  the  hearts  he  has  broken." 

"Did  he  ever  make  love  to  you?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Jenny,  gayly. 

"In  real  earnest?" 

"  Ah !  now  you  come  to  the  point.  Perhaps  you've 
not  heard  that  Andy  is  our  village  flirt  ?" 

"  A  flirt,  indeed !  And  so  I  am  to  be  one  of  his  vic 
tims.  Oh  dear !" 

"  I  don't  know  as  to  that.  I  more  than  half  suspect 
him  to  be  in  earnest  now.  In  fact,  I've  heard  from  more 
than  one  source,  that  he  is  desperately  in  love  with  you." 

"  Will  he  hang  himself  if  I'm  inexorable  ?" 

"  There's  no  telling.  But  what  kind  of  an  answer  are 
you  going  to  make  to  his  avowal  of  love  ?" 

"What  shall  I  say?" 

"  Oh,  that  depends  on  your  feelings." 

"  He's  a  regular  flirt  you  say  ?" 

"  I  could  name  you  a  dozen  girls  at  least,  to  whom  his 
attentions  have  been  of  a  character  to  make  them  believe 
that  his  designs  were  serious.  Two  or  three  were  made 
very  unhappy  when  he  turned  from  them,  like  a  gay  in 
sect,  to  seek  another  flower." 

"Then  he  must  be  punished,"  said  Kate,  resolutely; 
"  and  be  mine  the  task  to  lay  the  smarting  lash  upon  his 
shoulders.  For  the  man  who  deliberately  trifles  with  a 
woman's  feelings  I  have  no  pity.  He  has  been  the  cause 
of  pain  beyond  what  it  is  possible  for  himself  to  feel ;  and, 
if  I  can  reach  his  sensibilities  in  any  way,  you  may  be 
sure  that  I  will  do  it  with  a  hearty  good-will." 

"  I  do  not  like  the  thought  of  giving  pain,"  remarked 
Jenny,  "even  to  a  reptile." 

"  Pain  is  salutary  in  most  cases ;  and  will  be  particu 
larly  so  in  this,  I  hope.  He  will  have  some  idea  of  how 
it  feels,  as  the  woman  said,  when  she  rapped  her  boy 
over  the  head  with  a  stick  for  striking  his  sister." 

It  was  as  Jenny  supposed,  and  as  we  intimated  in  the 
beginning;  Andy  Cavender  was  really  and  truly  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  Kate  Archer,  and  every  lini 


THE    LOVE-LETTER. 

of  his  amatory  epistle  was  from  Ms  heart.  Two  or  three 
letters  were  written  and  destroyed  before  he  produced  one 
exactly  to  his  mind,  and  this  he  finally  despatched  in  full 
confidence  that,  as  it  came  from  his  heart,  it  must  reach 
the  heart  of  the  lovely  maiden. 

Two  days  went  by,  and  no  answer  was  received  by  the 
enamoured  swain.  He  began  to  feel  anxious.  On  the 
third  day,  a  neat  little  perfumed  envelop  came  into  his 
hands,  which  on  opening,  he  found  to  contain  a  pink, 
perfumed,  satin-edged  sheet  of  note-paper,  on  which  were 
a  few  lines  most  delicately  written.  They  were  as  fol 
lows  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR  : — Your  letter,  containing  a  most  flat 
tering  avowal  of  regard  for  one  who  is  comparatively  a 
stranger,  has  been  received.  Its  effect  I  will  not  attempt 
to  describe ;  nor  will  I,  at  this  time,  venture  to  put  in 
written  language  what  I  feel.  To-morrow  evening  I  will 

spend  at  Mrs.  T 's.     May  I  hope  to  see  you  there  ? 

"Yours,  &c.,  KATE." 

Andy  was  in  ecstacies  at  this  answer  to  his  epistle. 
Its  meaning  to  him  was  as  plain  as  if  Kate  had  said, 
"  Dear  Andrew,  my  heart  is  yours." 

On  the  next  evening,  he  repaired  to  Mrs.  T 's, 

trembling  with  fond  anticipation.  On  entering  the  parlour 
he  found  but  a  single  person  therein,  and  that  a  young 
lady  named  Herbert,  to  whom  he  had  formerly  paid  very 
marked  attentions.  Aware  that  she  had  been  made  un 
happy  by  his  fickleness,  not  to  call  it  by  a  harsher  name, 
the  meeting  rather  threw  a  damper  over  his  feelings.  But 
Andy  had  his  share  of  coolness  and  self-possession,  and 
although  it  cost  him  a  considerable  effort,  he  managed  to 
introduce  topics  of  conversation  and  to  talk  pretty  freely, 
although  the  talking  was  nearly  all  on  his  own  side,  Miss 
Herbert  maintaining  a  cold  reserve,  and  answering  entirely 
in  monosyllables. 

For  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Andy  endured  the 
ordeal,  wondering  why  this  particular  young  lady  should 

happen  to  be  alone  in  the  parlour  of  Mrs.  T ,  and 

wondering  still  more  why  Miss  Archer  did  not  make  her 


THE    LOVE-LETTER.  261 

appearance.  Just  as  he  began  to  feel  a  little  excited  and 
uneasy,  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked  another  young 
maiden  whom  he  had  reason  to  remember — a  Miss  Mary 
Harper.  She  was  also  one  of  his  old  flames.  She  ap 
peared  surprised  at  seeing  him,  and  greeted  him  with  cold 
ness.  Andy  tried  to  say  some  sprightly  things  to  Miss 
Harper ;  but  he  was  far  from  being  in  as  good  condition 
as  at  first.  The  effort  to  entertain  Miss  Herbert  had 
somewhat  exhausted  his  reservoir  of  spirits,  and  his  at 
tempts  to  draw  further  thereon  were  not  very  successful. 
The  two  young  ladies  drew  together  on  the  sofa,  and 
maintained  a  mutual  reserve  toward  Andy  that  soon 
began  to  be  painfully  embarrassing. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?"  Andy  had  just  asked  him 
self,  for  he  was  beginning  to  feel  puzzled,  when  the  sound 
of  light  feet  along  the  passage  was  again  heard,  and,  the 
door  opening,  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  form  of  Caroline 
Gray,  to  whom  he  had  once  paid  his  addresses.  Very 
particular  reasons  had  Andy  Cavender  for  not  wishing  to 
meet  Caroline  on  that  particular  occasion;  for  he  had 
committed  himself  to  her  more  directly  than  to  any  other 
young  lady  in  Woodland,  having,  on  one  occasion,  actually 
written  and  sent  to  her  a  love-letter.  The  precise  con 
tents  of  that  epistle  he  did  not  remember ;  but  often, 
when  he  thought  of  it,  he  had  doubts  as  to  the  extent  to 
which  he  had  committed  himself  therein,  that  were  not 
very  comfortable. 

Soon  another  and  another  entered,  and,  strange  to  say, 
each  was  an  old  flame,  until  there  were  present  not  less 
than  six  fair,  rebuking  spirits.  Silent,  Andy  sat  in  the 
midst  of  these — silent,  because  the  pressure  on  his  feelings 
had  become  insufferably  great — for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  It  was  a  social  party  of  a  most  novel  character, 
and  one  that  he  has  never  forgotten. 

About  the  time  that  Andy's  feelings  were  in  as  uncom 
fortable  a  state  as  could  well  be  imagined,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  wish  himself  at  the  North  Pole,  Kate  Archer 
and  her  friend  Jenny  entered  the  room  slowly,  the  former 
with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand,  upon  which  the  eyes  of 
both  were  resting. 

In  an  instant,  it  flashed  upon  Andy  Cavender  that  he 


262  THE    LOVE-LETTER. 

was  to  be  victimised  by  the  city  belle.  No  sooner  had 
this  thought  crossed  his  mind  than,  rising  abruptly,  he 
bowed  to  his  fair  tormentors,  saying — 

"  Excuse  me,  ladies."    And  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

But  ere  he  had  passed  beyond  the  street  door,  there 
reached  him  a  gush  of  merry  laughter  from  the  musical 
throat  of  Kate,  in  which  other  voices  mingled. 

On  the  next  day,  he  received  a  letter  directed  in  a  deli 
cate  hand.  It  inclosed  the  one  he  had  written  to  Kate, 
and  accompanying  it  was  a  note  in  these  words — 

"  There  is,  it  is  presumed,  a  mistake  in  the  direction  of 
this.  It  was  probably  meant  for  Caroline  Gray,  Mary 
Harper,  Nancy  Herbert,  or  Jenny  Green.  In  order  that 
it  may  receive  its  proper  destination,  it  is  returned  to  the 
writer." 

The  village  flirt  was  a  changed  man  after  that.  He 
had  played  with  edged  tools  until  he  cut  himself,  and  the 
wound,  in  healing,  left  an  ugly  scar.  Poor  Andy  Caven- 
der  !  All  this  happened  years  ago,  and  he  is  a  bachelor 
still,  notwithstanding  several  subsequent  attemptsvto  make 
a  favourable  impression  on  the  hearts  of  certain  pretty 

maidens.     The  story  of  his  punishment  at  Mrs.  T '3 

flew  over  the  village  m  a  few  hours,  and  after  that  no  fair 
denizen  of  Woodland  for  a  moment  thought  of  regarding 
any  attention  from  Andy  Cavender  as  more  than  a  piece 
of  idle  pastime ;  and,  OP  <;he  few  occasions  that  he  ven 
tured  to  talk  of  love,  thf  merry  witches  laughed  him  in 
the  face. 


THE 


HASTY    MARRIAGE 


IN  the  select  circle  of  refinement  and  intelligence  m 
which  she  moved,  none  were  more  highly  esteemed  than 
Jane  Power.  She  was  beautiful  without  affectation  or 
pride,  amiable  without  weakness,  and  well  educated  with 
out  being  pedantic.  If  she  had  any  fault,  it  was,  that  sne 
had  too  warm  and  too  confiding  a  heart.  Innocent  and 
sincere  herself,  she  never  suspected  others  of  guile  or 
duplicity.  She  had,  indeed,  heard  of  wicked  men  and 
women,  but  could  not  imagine  that  any  she  met,  with 
graceful  manners,  and  smiling  countenances,  could  be 
such.  There  was  an  excellent  but  not  brilliant  young 
man,  named  Jason,  who  was  sincerely  attached  to  her, 
and  for  whom  she  had  begun  to  entertain  sentiments 
rather  warmer  than  those  of  common  friendship.  But 
just  as  a  sincere  esteem  was  beginning  to  ripen  into  pure 
affection,  another  actor  of  more  imposing  exterior  came 
upon  the  scene.  His  name  was  Fells.  Nothing  was 
known  of  him  in  the  circle,  where  he  appeared  as  a  per 
fect  stranger,  and  received  all  the  attention  and  courtesy 
due  to  a  stranger  who  comes  introduced  by  respectable 
individuals. 

Here  is  a  grand  and  fatal  error  in  our  social  habits  and 
regulations.  Let  me  illustrate  it  in  the  present  instance. 
Who  then  was  Mr.  Fells  ?  The  son  of  a  respectable  mer 
chant  in  Charleston,  who  had  been  ruined  by  his  vices 
and  extravagance.  At  his  father's  death,  he  inherited  the 
small  remnant  of  a  broken  fortune,  and  made  his  way 
North,  with  evil  habits  confirmed,  and  principles  shaken 
to  the  foundation.  He  had  two  prominent  vices,  drinking 
and  gaming,  with  others  not  to  be  mentioned  here.  These 
soon  made  deep  inroads  upon  his  slender  means,  and,  as 
a  necessary  resource,  he  entered  a  hardware  store  in  this 
city,  as  a  clerk,  at  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a  year 
With  this,  and  partial  habits  of  forced  economy,  he  was- 

(263) 


264  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

enabled  to  keep  up  a  very  fair  appearance.  Having  a 
good  education,  and  being  well  acquainted  with  business, 
from  having  early  in  life  entered  his  father's  counting- 
room,  he  soon,  by  hiding  carefully  his  evil  propensities, 
gained  the  confidence  of  his  employers,  who  at  the  end 
of  the  second  year,  proposed  a  limited  partnership.  He 
was  thus  enabled  to  take  that  position  in  society  which 
he  desired.  He  was  handsome,  intelligent,  of  pleasing 
address,  and  in  business  —  of  course  he  could  get  into 
almost  any  society,  for  there  are  too  few  social  restric 
tions  founded  upon  principle. 

Parents  too  generally  allow  their  daughters  to  choose 
their  own  company,  and  to  visit  where  they  please.  And 
those  who  make  parties  rarely  inquire  into  the  moral  cha 
racter  of  the  stranger  they  are  asked  by  an  acquaintance 
to  invite.  I  need  not  say  that  this  is  all  wrong.  The 
many  unhappy  marriages  that  take  place  in  the  very  best 
families,  in  our  city,  every  year,  painfully  attest  this 
fact.  This  evening,  a  father  may  look  with  proud  affec 
tion  upon  his  beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter,  as  she 
glides  smiling  from  his  presence  to  grace  an  evening  party, 
and  to-morrow,  unknown  to  him,  her  young  and  confiding 
heart  may  tremble  with  a  pleased  agitation  as  it  treasures 
up  the  looks,  the  words,  and  smiles,  of  one  who  has  nei 
ther  character  nor  principle.  A  few  weeks  pass,  and  the 
mischief  is  done.  Perhaps  the  young  man  calls  in  com 
pany  with  a  friend  of  the  family,  about  this  time,  and 
spends  an  evening.  The  father  and  mother,  culpably  un 
suspicious,  receive  their  visitors  with  smiles  and  compli 
ments,  and  in  a  half  hour  "  leave  the  young  people  alone." 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  in  this  way  attachments  are  formed 
which  a  whote  lifetime  of  wrong  and  misery  cannot  break? 
It  is  in  vain,  when  matters  begin  to  wear  a  more  serious 
aspect,  for  the  father  to  discover  that  a  young  man  ad 
dressing  his  daughter  is  not  what  he  could  wish.  Her 
heart  is  now  all  too  deeply  interested  in  the  matter.  His 
uusiness  was  to  have  guarded  the  tender  blossom,  which 
God  had  given  him,  from  the  contact  of  evil.  It  is  too 
late  now.  The  "  poison  of  love"  has  passed  through 
every  vein,  and  there  is  but  one  physician  that  can  allay 
the  burning  fever.  If  he  does  not  consent  to  yield  up, 
even  with  tears,  his  dear  child  to  the  arms  of  one  who 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  2G5 

will  soon  est<  em  her  as  of  little  worth,  he  will,  in  all  pro 
bability,  find  ner  deserting  her  home  and  long  cherished 
ones  for  the  protection  of  a  stranger.  Do  not  these  things 
happen  arouid  us  every  day'!  Depend  upon  it,  our  social 
barriers  are  far  too  easily  passed !  There  is  not  enough 
exclusiveness  practised  towards  the  unknown  and  the  un 
principled. 

But  I  muut  return.  Consequent  upon  the  facility  with 
which  a  yojng  man  of  pleasing  manners  and  good  ap 
pearance  can  get  introduced  into  society,  Fells  soon 
gained  a  pretty  extensive  acquaintance.  He  had  fre 
quently  met  Miss  Power  "in  company,"  but  had  not 
yet  obtained  "  an  introduction,"  that  cobweb  protection 
against  the  advances  of  a  perfect  stranger.  He  was 
acquainted  with  Jason,  her  almost  constant  attendant,  and, 
finding  that  no  offer  was  tendered  of  an  introduction,  told 
him  one  day  that  he  should  like  to  visit  Miss  Power. 
Jason,  who  was  of  a  quiet,  observing  turn  of  mind,  had 
seen  many  things  in  the  conduct  of  Fells  which  he  did 
not  like,  and  had  determined  from  the  first,  that  through 
him  Jane  Power  should  never  make  the  acquaintance. 
He  evaded  a  direct  reply,  by  observing  that  she  was  a 
very  worthy  and  intelligent  young  lady,  and  immediately 
changed  the  subject.  But  Fells  was  not  to  be  driven  off. 

"  She  is  certainly  a  sweet  little  creature,  and  I  must 
know  her,"  said  he  to  Jason. 

"  She  is  amiable  and  good,"  was  the  reply. 

"  By  the  by,  Jason,  people  say  that  her  father  has  the 
gooseberries." 

«  The  what  ?" 

"  The  gooseberries,  man  !  Why,  you  're  green !  The 
ready  rhino,  to  the  tune  of  sixty  thousand." 

"  I  presume  her  father  is  in  easy  circumstances.  But 
what  of  that?" 

"  What  of  that,  Jason?  Why,  do  you  suppose  I  am  so 
simple,  or  that  I  think  you  so  simple  as  to  care  nothing 
for  the  wherewithal  ?  No,  indeed !  I  consider  myself 
worth  at  least  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  I  must  have 
a  wife  on  equal  terms." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  were  worth  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  Mr. Fells?" 

23 


2C6  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

"  Why,  am  I  not  a  genteel,  well-educated  man — and  is 
not  every  such  a  man  valued  low  at  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars  r 

"  You  're  jesting." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  jesting,  though.  And  a  wife  of  equal 
worth  I  must  have." 

"I  don't  exactly  understand  your  mode  of  reason 
ing." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  1  must  explain  then.  Any  man  of 
business  capacity,  can  earn,  as  a  clerk,  at  least  one  thou 
sand  dollars  a  year,  which  is  the  annual  interest  on  a  per 
manent  capital  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  A  woman 
can  earn  nothing,  therefore  she  should  have  a  capital  of 
twenty  thousand  to  invest,  to  be  on  equal  terms  with  her 
husband.  Do  you  understand  that  ?" 

«  Perfectly." 

"  And  mean,  of  course,  to  practise  on  so  plain  a  prin 
ciple." 

"  I  leave  all  theories  and  practice  of  this  kind  to  you, 
Mr.  Fells." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Fells,  with  a  sneer.  And  the 
subject  was  changed. 

More  than  ever  determined  was  Jason  now,  to  keep,  if 
possible,  so  dangerous  and  heartless  a  man  from  becom 
ing  acquainted  with  Miss  Power.  But  there  are  so  many 
ways  to  gain  an  introduction  into  our  social  circles,  that 
Fells  very  soon  was  charming  the  ear  of  the  unsuspicious 
girl,  and  winning  her  good  opinion  to  himself.  Jason 
observed  this  with  pain,  but  did  not  feel  at  liberty,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  to  whisper  to  Miss  Power  the 
danger  she  was  in.  A  stronger  motive  for  standing  aloof, 
was  founded  in  pride.  If  such  a  one  as  Fells  could  win 
the  affections  of  Miss  Power,  she  was  unworthy  his 
regard.  So  soon  as  this  thought  flashed  across  his  mind, 
he  withdrew  himself  almost  entirely  from  her  company, 
and  left  her  free  to  feel  the  witchery  in  every  word  and 
tone  of  the  specious  and  fascinating  stranger. 

Fells  now  became  a  frequent  visiter  at  her  father's 
house,  and  her  constant  attendant.  Partner  in  the  re 
spectable  firm  of  Gains,  Fells  &  Co.,  he  was  received  by 
the  thrifty  father  of  Miss  Power  with  smiles  of  approba- 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  267 

tion,  and  sooner  than  he  could  have  expected,  he  was  the 
accepted  lover  of  the  sweetest  girl  he  had  ever  met. 

A  believer  in  the  old  adage,  that  a  "  bird  in  the  hand 
is  worth  two  in  the  bus-h,"  Fells  proposed  an  early  day 
for  the  marriage,  and  in  a  very  brief  space  was  the  hus 
band  of  Miss  Power. 

Little  change  could  be  seen  in  Fells  for  two  or  three 
years,  by  any  one,  except  his  poor  wife,  who  too  early 
discovered  that  she  had  given  a  treasure  into  the  .keeping 
of  one  who  could  form  no  appreciation  of  its  value, — that 
the  fascinating  glitter  of  his  manners  but  the  more  effec 
tually  concealed  the  roughness,  and  coldness,  and  want 
of  principle  within.  Her  simple  mind  was  at  first  shock 
ed  by  the  small  regard  he  evinced  for  truth,  and  the  want 
of  feeling  often  shown  towards  the  suffering.  But  he  was 
not  harsh  to  her,  only  cold,  and  often  indifferent.  How 
her  poor  heart  sometimes  ached,  when  it  turned  back 
upon  itself,  after  vainly  seeking  from  him  some  word, 
some  look,  some  tone  of  pure  and  deep  affection ! 

Not  long  after  their  marriage,  the  fingers  of  Fells  began 
to  itch  to  handle  some  of  the  many  dollars  Mr.  Power 
was  reputed  to  possess.  As  a  limited  partner  in  his  pre 
sent  firm,  money  accumulated  with  him  too  slowly,  and 
he  longed  to  pass  thousands  to  the  account  of  profit,  where 
he  now  passed  hundreds. 

Before  the  end  of  the  first  year,  he  so  won  upon  the 
confidence  of  his  father-in-law,  as  to  induce  him  to  offer 
an  equal  partnership  in  his  own  house,  which  was  doing 
a  heavy  business  in  the  jobbing  line.  He  of  course  at 
once  dissolved  existing  connections,  and  entered  upon  a 
business  of  which  he  knew  nothing.  In  a  short  time,  Mr. 
Power,  as  Fells  was  an  active  man,  and  of  good  address 
insisted  that  he  should  take  the  position  of  principal  sales 
man.  In  this  capacity  he  was  eminently  successful,  for 
he  could  sell  more  goods,  by  one-half,  than  the  oldest  and 
most  experienced  salesman  in  the  house.  Young  western 
and  southern  merchants,  who  were  fond  of  frolicking  and 
good  company,  soon  got  to  know  the  house  of  Power  and 
Fells,  and  were  sure  to  go  there,  in  the  fall  and  spring,  to 
buy  their  goods.  And  why  1  because  the  junior  partner 
always  attended  them  in  their  wine  drinking,  and  other 
parties  c  f  pleasure.  He  always  had  a  free  ticket  for 


268  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

them  at  the  theatre,  and  could  go  with  them  to  evtry 
place  of  amusement  and  dissipation  to  which  their  loose 
morals  might  lead  them.* 

Securing  almost  the  entire  custom  of  the  pleasure-lov 
ing  western  and  southern  merchants,  he  of  necessity  often 
made  bad  sales,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second  year,  the 
house,  instead  of  showing  any  real  profit,  was  consider 
ably  injured  by  the  failure  of  customers.  In  making  up 
a  statement,  and  ascertaining  exactly  the  position  of 
affairs,  Mr.  Power's  eyes  were  suddenly  opened  to  the 
real  state  of  the  case.  His  mercantile  sagacity  should 
have  taught  him  as  much  before,  but  it  required  a  heavy 
loss  to  open  his  eyes.  He  now  remembered,  with  pain, 
that  Mr.  Fells  kept  too  constantly  the  company  of  just 
such  men  as  those  who  had  cheated  the  house.  A  sus 
picion,  on  the  instant  flashing  across  his  mind,  caused  him 
to  turn  to  his  son-in-law's  account,  when  he  was  alarmed 
to  find,  that,  although  he  was  living  with  his  wife  at  his 
house,  at  no  expense  but  what  it  took  for  clothing,  he  had 
actually  drawn  four  thousand  dollars  in  a  twelve-month ! 
Deeply  pained  at  this  discovery,  and  remembering  all  at 
once  that  Fells  had  not  been  regular  in  his  attendance  at 
the  store,  and  that  he  generally  kept  very  late  hours  at 
night,  rarely  coming  in  before  one,  two,  and  three,  in  the 
morning,  he  had  a  sickening  consciousness  that  something 
was  vitally  wrong — something  threatening  to  destroy  his 
peace  of  mind,  and  that  of  his  daughter,  for  ever. 

Many  painful  reflections  crowding  upon  his  mind,  he 
felt  unfitted  for  business,  and  retired  to  his  home  at  an 
early  hour.  Seeing  now  with  opened  eyes,  he  was  shock 
ed  to  perceive  the  wan,  pale  countenance  of  his  daughter, 
and  the  look  of  anxious  concern  which  she  directed 
towards  him,  as  he  came  in  at  an  unusual  hour. 

*  I  must  not  be  understood  as  attempting  to  insinuate  any 
thing  against  the  morals  of  western  and  southern  merchants, 
as  a  body.  Among  them,  as  among  all  classes  of  the  com 
munity,  are  those  who  are  fond  of  dissipation,  when  they  come 
to  the  large  eastern  cities,  where  an  open  door  invites  them 
in  almost  every  street.  It  is  well  known,  that  this  disposition 
to  seek  pleasure,  falsely  so  called,  by  some  of  the  younger 
country  merchants,  is  encouraged  by  a  few  eastern  houses, 
some  members  of  which  are  always  at  hand  to  introduce  them 
into  all  the  mysteries  of  city  vice  and  dissipation 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  269 

"What  is  the  matter,  father?"  said  his  child,  whose 
heart  had  long  feared,  with  an  excited  and  trembling  fear, 
some  strange  calamity. 

"  Nothing,  daughter." 

"  But  something  must  be  the  matter,  father,  for  you  look 
pale,  and  strangely  concerned ;  and  you  are  not  used  to 
come  home  at  this  time." 

"  I  do  not  feel  altogether  well,  this  afternoon,  child,  and 
that  has  brought  me  home." 

Jane  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  doubtingly,  and 
then  turned  away  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  to  attend  to  a 
bright  little  fellow  about  two  years  old,  who  just  at  that 
moment  came  running  to  her  with  some  childish  request. 

That  night  was  one  of  sleepless  anxiety,  and  deep 
thought  to  Mr.  Power.  He  had  no  counsellor,  but  his 
own  breast ;  for  one  who  had  ever  been  a  faithful  adviser, 
and  an  unfailing  stay  when  he  would  have  fallen  under 
the  pressure  of  calamity,  had  been  laid  in  her  grave  for 
more  than  a  year.  After  weighing  matters  calmly,  and 
solemnly,  for  many  hours,  he  came  to  the  resolution,  of 
expostulating  first,  and  then  proposing  a  dissolution  of 
partnership,  if  his  reasonable  desires  were  not  complied 
with.  It  was  near  day  when  Mr.  Fells  .came  in,  and  he 
was  not  up,  of  course,  at  the  regular  breakfast  hour.  Mr. 
Power  thought  he  had  never  seen  his  daughter's  counte 
nance  look  so  haggard  and  care-worn  as  it  did  while  she 
sat  alone  with  him  that  morning  at  the  breakfast  table. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  when  his  son-in-law  came  ta 
the  store,  and  immediately  Mr.  Power  requested  an  inter 
view  with  him  in  the  private  apartment  of  the  counting- 
room.  Here  he  stated  to  him  his  fears  for  the  ultimate 
result  of  his  present  course  of  conduct,  and  his  entire  dis 
approbation  of  it.  , 

At  first,  Felts  was  disposed  to  take  matters  in  anger 
but  when  his  father-in-law  told  him,  with  an  air  of  stern 
determination,  such  as  he  had  never  known  him  to  as 
sume,  that,  unless  he  complied  with  his  wishes,  an  imme 
diate  dissolution  must  take  place,  he  appeared  humbled, 
and  promised  amendment. 

For  a  short  time  his  course  of  conduct  was  apparently 
al!  that  could  be  desired.     And  the  cheek  and  eye  of  his 
poor  wife  were  brighter,  and  her  tone  happier,  than  they 
23* 


270  HASTY      MARRIAGE. 

had  been  for  months.  They  had  two  sweet  children,  ons 
a  boy  over  two  years  old,  and  the  other  a  girl  who  had 
only  numbered  a  few  months.  In  these  he  seemed  to 
take  a  new  delight.  But  alas !  all  this  was  of  but  short 
duration.  He  had  commenced  the  downward  course,  and 
who  could  arrest  him  in  his  career  to  ruin  ? 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  he  was  as  irregular  in  his 
habits  as  ever ;  but  Mr.  Power  allowed  none  of  the  re 
sponsibilities  of  the  business  to  rest  upon  him,  and  kept  a 
careful  eye  upon  his  drafts  for  money.  By  this  means 
he  restrained  him  in  a  great  measure  from  running  into 
excesses. 

But  he  had  become  the  slave  to  two  o'ermastering  vices 
— drinking  and  gaming ! — and  for  the  last,  no  trifling  sup 
plies  of  money  would  answer.  Mr.  Power  watched  with 
too  jealous  an  eye,  over  the  cash  account,  to  allow  him  to 
make  further  unnecessary  inroads  there,  and  the  limited 
supply  he  could  draw,  was  in  every  way  insufficient  to 
meet  his  debts  of  honour  (! !)  But  money  he  did  raise, 
and  how  ?  Why,  he  made  a  note  of  five  thousand  dollars 
in  the  name  of  the  firm,  at  four  months,  obtained  an  en 
dorser,  and  opened  with  it  a  new  account  in  a  bank  that 
readily  discounted  it.  This  amount  did  not  last  him  long, 
as  he  had  gotten  of  late  more  deeply  entangled  in  the 
gambler's  difficulties,  having  fallen  in  with  some  of  those 
soulless  gentry  called  blacklegs.  The  whole  five  thou 
sand  were  gone  in  a  month.  He  now  waited  upon  a  firm 
that  was  in  the  habit  of  exchanging  notes  with  them,  and 
stated  that  they  wanted  an  accommodation  of  ten  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  wished  to  pass  obligations.  A  note  for 
the  amount  was  obtained,  and  as  readily  passed  through 
bank.  Intoxicated  with  so  abundant  a  supply  of  money,  he 
risked  it  prodigally  at  the  gaming  table,  and  soon  found 
that  he  was  turning  his  last  dollar  again.  A  momentary 
pang  of  remorse  shot  through  his  mind  as  he  reflected 
upon  the  result  of  all  this  —  but,  resolved  still  to  have 
money,  he  sat  down  to  devise  new  schemes  for  procur 
ing  it. 

He  had  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a  villain  who  had 
no  conscience,  and  to  him  he  confided  a  statement  of  his 
dilemma.  They  put  their  heads  together,  and  after  sug 
gesting  many  things,  at  last  resolved,  that  Fells  should 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  271 

make  ten  notes,  each  for  two  thousand  dollars,  in  the 
name  of  Power  and  Fells,  and  that  he  should  pass  them 
away  to  several  note-shavers.  The  plan  was  executed, 
and  as  the  credit  of  the  firm  was  among  the  first  in  the 
city,  the  notes  were  caught  up  with  avidity  by  the  private 
money-lenders,  who  rarely  got  hold  of  anything  in  those 
times  so  "  strong." 

He  had  now  drawn  upon  the  firm  to  the  amount  of 
thirty-five  thousand  dollars,  and  from  his  knowledge  of 
the  amount  of  real  capital  employed,  he  knew  well  that  a 
suspension  would  be  the  consequence.  But  he  cared  but 
little  now.  Secure  in  the  last  dividend  he  would  probably 
get  of  the  profits,  real  or  imaginary,  of  the  business,  he 
cared  to  remain  no  longer,  and  accordingly  started  oft* 
secretly  for  the  south,  under  an  assumed  name,  leaving 
his  wife  and  children  without  a  word,  and  with  scarcely 
a  thought — and  old  Mr.  Power  to  bear  soon  the  shock  of 
a  falling  house. 

All  that  poor  Mrs.  Fells  suffered  when  she  found  that 
her  idolized  husband  was  gradually  growing  indifferent  to 
her — that  even  the  smiles  of  their  sweet  babes  could  not 
win  him  to  his  home  —  is  only  written  in  heaven.  Mv 
imagination  cannot  picture  it,  nor  my  pen  describe  it.  All 
the  period  of  three  years,  from  the  time  she  was  married, 
until  her  husband  went  away,  I  will  pass  over,  though  it 
was  to  her  a  period  of  intense  mental  suffering,  and  bring 
her  before  the  reader  on  the  night  of  her  watching,  until 
the  stars  grew  dim — "  and  yet  he  came  not." 

After  tea  on  that  evening,  she  sat  with  her  babe  in  her 
arms,  until  nearly  ten  o'clock,  musing  sadly  upon  the 
strange  conduct  of  her  husband.  At  eleven,  she  threw 
herself  upon  the  bed,  as  was  her  wont,  without  taking 
off  her  clothes,  and  slept  until  two,  when  she  awoke 
as  usual,  to  listen  and  wait  for  her  husband.  The  night 
was  dark  and  cloudy,  and  as  it  was  late  in  autumn,  the 
wind  moaned  drearily  along  the  deserted  street,  giving  a 
sadder  feeling  to  her  already  overburdened  heart.  How 
anxiously  did  she  listen  to  the  sound  of  every  footstep  as 
it  approached,  and  with  what  cheerless  disappointment 
did  she  notice  its  passing  by  !  Three  o'clock,  and  yet  he 
had  not  come. — The  minutes  fled  away,  and  filled  up  the 


272  HASTY     MARRI&tiE. 

measure  of  another  hour,  and  still  she  sat,  listening,  at  the 
window.  And  when  the  dim  light  of  the  morning  came 
coldly  in,  and  paled  the  flickering  rays  of  the  taper,  she 
was  still  a  sleepless  watcher.  Who  can  calculate  the 
extent,  who  can  fathom  the  deoths  of  a  woman's  ever- 
during  affection  ? 

Agitation  and  alarm  were  visible  in  her  countenance 
when  Mr.  Power  came  down  from  his  room  in  the  morn 
ing. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Jane  ?" 

"  Mr.  Fells  has  not  been  at  home  all  night.  Where  can 
he  be?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell,  Jane.  But  don't  be  alarmed; 
he  will  be  here,  I  suppose,  this  morning.  He  does  not 
keep  as  regular  hours  as  he  should." 

"  Oh,-  father,  my  heart  feels  as  if  it  would  break !  I 
have  watched  for  him  all  night  long,  in  hope  and  fear, 
and  yet  he  is  away !  He  never  comes  home  now  until 
three  or  four  o'clock,  and  then  often  so  much  intoxicated, 
that  he  will  curse  and  abuse  me  if  I  say  a  word  to  him." 
And  the  poor  wife  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
wept  until  the  tears  trickled  through  her  thin  white  fin 
gers,  and  fell  in  large  drops  upon  the  floor 

Her  father  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  endeavoured, 
silently,  to  calm  the  excitement  of  her  feelings.  Many 
thoughts  rushed  through  his  mind,  and  bitterly  then  did  he 
repent  his  early  carelessness  in  leaving  his  daughter  an 
easy  prey  to  any  plausible  villain  who  might  chance  to 
come  along.  He  felt  then  and  there  the  necessity  of 
social  restrictions,  but  felt  it  too  late. 

The  hours  rolled  heavily  away  for  Jane  Fells  that  day, 
for  each  recurring  one  she  hoped  would  bring  back  her 
absent  husband.  At  two  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Power  came 
home  to  dinner,  he  had  not  been  to  the  store;  and  now,  in 
considerable  alarm,  her  father  went  out  to  seek  him,  he 
knew  not  whither.  After  vainly  searching  and  inquiring 
in  all  directions,  he  was  informed  by  a  friend  that  he  saw 
him  take  his  seat  in  the  western  stage  at  six  o'clock  that 
morning  in  company  with  a  noted  gambler.  With  this 
information  he  hurried  home  in  a  state  of  mind  inconceiv 
ably  painful.  He  thought  it  best,  knowing  his  daughter's 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  273 

character,  to  tell  her  the  truth,  and  also  to  impart  at  once 
to  her  his  suspicion  of  the  cause. 

"  Have  you  found  him,  father?"  were  her  eager  words, 
as  he  entered. 

"  No,  my  child ;  and  I  am  afraid  will  not  soon. 

"  Oh,  what  do  you  mean  ?  He  is  not  dead,  father  ?  Tell 
me  at  once — O,  tell  me — I  can  bear  it,  father — don't  fear 
me."  Her  wild  eye,  pale  cheek,  and  look  of  eager  and 
alarmed  expectation,  showed  how  little  prepared  she  was 
to  bear  any  such  startling  announcement. 

"  No,  Jane,  he  is  not  dead." 

"  Thank  God!"  was  her  quick  ejaculation  —  "thank 
God  !  he  is  not  dead."  And  she  sobbed  and  laughed  for 
a  few  moments,  hysterically. 

Recovering  herself  in  a  brief  space,  she  said  in  renew 
ed  alarm,  "  Then,  father,  where  is  he  ?" 

"  Sit  down,  my  child,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know. 
Strengthen  your  heart  to  bear  the  burden,  Jane,  for  it  is 
one  that  will  have  to  be  borne,  —  not  thrown  aside.  I 
have  lately  discovered  that  your  husband  has  drawn  out 
of  the  business,  in  cash,  during  the  last  year,  about  five 
thousand  dollars.  He  had  no  use  for  all  this  money,  if  he 
did  not  visit  the  gaming  table,  where,  I  fear  much,  he  has 
squandered  this  large  sum.  After  searching  for  him  in 

vain  all  day,  Mr. told  me  that  he  saw  him  enter  the 

western  stage  at  six  o'clock  this  morning,  in  company 
with  a  noted  gambler.  Something  is  wrong,  and  I  much 
fear  that  too  soon  we  will  *ear  of  that  which  will  make 
us  wish  we  had  never  seen  or  known  him." 

Eagerly  had  his  daughter  looked  him  in  the  face  while 
he  was  speaking,  and  now,  when  he  paused,  she  clasped 
her  hands  together,  and  lifting  up  a  countenance  of  unut 
terable  despair,  murmured,  "  my  poor  babes,"  and  sunk 
senseless  upon  the  floor. 

Here  was  the  consummation  of  her  worst  fears.  She 
had  long  had  strange  suspicions  that  all  was  not  right, 
and  now  the  dreaded  blow  had  fallen,  and  fallen  with  an 
unexpected  force.  No  wonder  that,  for  a  time,  she  yield 
ed  to  the  shock. 

For  many  weeks  Jane  Fells  did  not  hold  up  her  head, 
and  for  most  of  that  time  it  was  feared  she  would  never 
again  look  out  upon  the  world — that  she  would  never  pass 


274  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

the  door-stone,  until  borne  out  by  the  mourners.  And 
Mr.  Power  was  in  a  state  of  mind,  that  was  hardly 
rational.  The  calm,  business-like  energy  that  had  hereto 
fore  characterized  him,  yielded  to  a  nervous,  agitated, 
undecided  manner.  The  fact  of  his  partner  having  left 
an  apparently  good  business  under  such  singular  circum 
stances,  led  many  to  suppose  that  all  was  not  right ;  and, 
consequently,  the  credit  of  the  house  was  shaken,  in  a 
manner  that  rendered  the  situation  of  Mr.  Power  really 
embarrassing.  To  make  things  worse,  one  of  the  dash 
ing  customers  of  the  junior  partner  failed,  and  the  house 
of  Power  and  Fells  held  his  notes  to  the  amount  of  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  The  loss  was  total. 

To  fill  up  the  measure  of  embarrassment,  a  notice  was 
received  from  one  of  the  banks  of  a  note  due  in  a  few 
days  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  No  such  note  appearing 
upon  the  bill-book,  Mr.  Power  went  to  the  bank,  and  soon 
understood,  for  himself,  that  the  note  had  been  made  by 
his  son-in-law.  Knowing  that  the  only  way  to  complete 
ly  overwhelm  the  sinking  credit  of  the  house,  would  be  to 
let  the  note  lay  over,  he,  with  some  difficulty,  raised  the 
money  and  cancelled  the  fictitious  obligation. 

Scarcely  was  the  evidence  of  his  partner's  guilt  fairly 
out  of  bank,  when  ten  notices  from  different  banks  were 
left,  each  calling  for  the  payment  of  two  thousand  dollars 
in  two  weeks;  —  so  utterly  regardless,  it  seems,  had  been 
Mr.  Fells,  as  to  the  dates  and  time  of  the  notes  he  had,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  forged.  The  bill-book  of  the 
firm  showed,  of  course,  no  memorandum  of  these  obliga 
tions. 

In  the  case  of  Mr.  Power,  as  in  the  case  of  thousands 
of  others,  troubles  came  not  singly.  Ere  the  due  day  of 
these  notes  rolled  around,  notice  came  of  three  suspen 
sions  in  St.  Louis,  each  of  which  heavily  involved  his 
house.  But  it  is  needless  for  me  to  linger  in  detail.  It 
was  soon  noised  abroad  that  the  house  of  Power  and 
Fells  had  failed,  and  the  rumour  was  not  without  founda 
tion.  One  of  the  old  school*of  merchants,  Mr.  Power's 
mercantile  integrity  was  dear  to  him  as  the  apple  of  his 
eye;  and  now  that  it -was  tainted  by  suspicion,  his  head 
sunk  upon  his  bosom,  never  to  rise  again.  He  gave  up 
everytning  into  the  hands  of  trustees,  —  goods,  accounts, 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  275 

real  estate  and  all,  and  retired  with  his  daughter  and  her 
children,  to  a  little  farm  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  which 
belonged  to  his  wife,  and  which  had  been  made  over  to 
his  daughter  so  soon  as  her  mother  had  died.  He  had 
one  satisfaction,  in  the  final  settlement  of  his  business,  and 
that  was,  that  it  paid  one  hundred  cents  in  the  dollar. 
After  this  result  was  known,  he  sunk  into  a  gloomy,  list 
less  state,  and  in  one  year,  was  laid  at  rest  in  the  grave. 

When  Mrs.  Fells  turned  away  from  the  grave  of  her 
father,  and  with  her  two  children  went  back  to  her  home, 
it  was  in  sadness  and  gloom.  Even  though,  to  her,  the 
heavens  had  long  been  enveloped  in  blackness,  there  had 
been  still  shining  out,  from  amid  the  thick  clouds  and 
darkness,  one  bright  star;  but  now  that  star  had  gone 
down  for  ever.  Until  within  three  years,  she  had  known 
none  of  the  trials  and  afflictions  of  life.  Alas  !  how  many 
had  been  crowded  upon  her  in  that  brief  time  ?  Father 
and  mother  both  laid  in  the  grave,  and  a  husband  lost  to 
all  honour  and  shame. 

When  she  sat  down  in  her  desolate  dwelling  with  her 
babes,  and  the  darkness  of  night  fell  gradually  around 
them,  she  felt  forsaken  of  all  —  even  of  her  God :  for  she 
had  not  learned  to  put  her  trust  in  him  who  is  a  friend  to 
the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  For  more  than  an  hour 
had  she  yielded  up  thus  to  an  overmastering  despondency, 
since  the  night-fall,  and  still  she  sat  buried  in  gloom,  and 
almost  despair,  without  a  single  friend  to  whisper  a  word 
of  comfort,  when  she  was  surprised  by  a  loud  knock  at 
the  door.  As  the  servant  opened  to  the  demand,  Mrs. 
Fells  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  her  own  name,  in  the 
tones  of  a  well-known  voice,  and  in  the  next  moment  her 
husband  stood  before  her  —  her  husband,  but  oh,  how 
changed !  Pale  and  emaciated,  he  was  but  the  shadow 
of  his  former  self.  His  clothes  were  worn  and  poor,  and 
betokened  extreme  poverty  and  degradation.  In  his  face 
were  the  marks  of  dissipation,  and  the  harsh  lines  of  un 
holy  thoughts  and  evil  passions.  But  Jane  saw  none  of 
these,  —  the  being  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  all  the 
world,  stood  before  her,  and  she  only  saw  him  as  such. 
She  had  ever  loved  him  with  a  fervent  and  unwavering 
love,  even  though  he  had  almost  broken  her  heart;  and 
now,  that  he  had  come  back  to  her  again,  after  a  long 


2Y6  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

and  heart-sickening  absence,  she  opened  wide  her  arms 
to  receive  him. 

"  My  dear  husband !"  was  all  she  could  say,  as  she 
sprang  towards  him,  and  fell  almost  senseless  in  his  arms. 

"Jane — can  you,  will  you,  forgive  me?" 

"  All— all,  dear  husband  !" 

Such  a  reception  he  had  not  expected.  Selfish  in  his 
own  feelings,  he  knew  nothing  of  the  deep  wells  of  affec 
tioin  that  often  lie  hid  in  a  woman's  heart.  Forced  by 
sickness  and  want,  for  he  had  run  rapidly  his  downward 
career,  to  return  home,  or  die,  he  had  approached  the 
spot  where  his  wife  had  retired  with  anxious  reluctance. 
Reproaches  he  looked  for,  but  to  meet  in  their  place  for 
giveness  and  love,  melted  his  heart;  and  in  tears  —  tears 
of  sincere  repentance  —  he  confessed  his  errors,  and  pro 
mised  to  lead  a  new  life. 

Hope  soon  revived  in  the  breast  of  his  stricken-hearted 
wife,  for  Mr.  Fells,  confined  to  the  house  by  sickness,  and 
having  neither  inclination  nor  opportunity,  under  such 
circumstances,  for  the  indulgence  of  any  of  his  evil  habits, 
showed  so  much  regard  for,  and  interest  in,  his  wife  and 
children,  and  so  much  sorrow  for  his  former  conduct,  that 
she  fondly  hoped  that  all  would  be  well  again. 

As  he  gradually  recovered  under  his  wife's  untiring 
care,  Mr.  Fell  began  to  feel  a  returning  desire  to  mingle 
again  in  society.  There  had  been,  with  him,  no  cultiva 
tion  of  the  moral  faculties,  and  but  little  of  the  intellec 
tual,  and  he,  therefore,  had  neither  the  attractions  of  mind 
to  win  him  to  solitude,  nor  the  stern  admonitions  of  prin 
ciple  to  keep  him  from  again  throwing  aside  as  worthless 
the  peace  of  her  who  had  received  him  with  open  arms 
when  he  had  no  place  in  which  to  lay  his  head. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  some,  the  first  time  he  could 
walk  as  far  as  the  city,  he  came  home  in  a  fever  of  in 
toxication.  Anxiously  had  his  poor  wife  looked  out  for 
him,  hour  after  hour,  as  the  day  wore  away,  hoping  and 
fearing,  and  sick  at  heart,  with  conflicting  emotions. 
She  had  not  suffered  so  much  since  the  day  when  it  was 
told  her  that  her  husband  had  forsaken  his  wife  and  his 
babes.  As  the  twilight  began  to  fall,  she  strained  her 
eyes  into  the  distance  with  eager  anxiety,  and  at  last  dis 
cerned  his  well-known  form.  Her  heart  throbbed  wildly 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  277 

as  she  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  her  husband,  but  she 
could  soon  see,  as  he  approached,  that  all  was  not  right ; 
and  when  he  came  up  to  where  she  stood,  and  she  saw 
his  condition,  she  could  but  just  turn  and  stagger  into  the 
house.  He  was  too  much  under  the  influence  of  strong 
drink  to  observe  his  wife's  distress,  and  began  talking  in 
great  good-humour  of  the  prospect  which  had  suddenly 
burst  upon  him,  since  he  had  gone  into  the  city,  of  get 
ting  into  a  good  business.  A  friend  had  met  him,  an  old 
friend,  and  had  held  out  large  inducements.  All  that  was 
required  was  a  small  capital ;  with  that,  they  could  soon 
be  as  they  once  were.  Mrs.  Fells  understood  the  mean 
ing  of  all  this,  as  well  as  did  her  drunken  husband.  This 
was  but  the  first  intimation  of  a  design,  cherished  ever 
since  he  returned  home,  to  get  into  his  own  hands  the  lit 
tle  property,  made  over  to  her  by  her  father.  She  per 
suaded  him  to  go  to  bed,  where  he  was  soon  snoring  in 
drunken  insensibility. 

How  suddenly  were  all  her  hopes  scattered,  like  chaff 
before  the  whirlwind  !  And  thus  have  the  hopes  of  thou 
sands  been  scattered. 

Next  morning,  Mr.  Fells  remembered  something  of  the 
condition  in  which  he  had  come  home  the  night  before, 
and  the  distressed  manner  and  look  of  his  wife  admon 
ished  him  that  she  had  but  too  closely  observed  it.  Al 
though  a  little  angry  with  himself  for  his  conduct,  he  felt 
more  angry  with  his  wife  for  showing  her  disapproval  of 
it,  and  put  on  a  cross,  offended  air.  At  the  breakfast- 
table,  he  sat  silent,  with  brow  drawn  down,  and  every 
exhibition  of  angry  feeling.  His  poor  wife,  seeing  this, 
felt  a  double  weight  upon  her  heart,  and  of  course,  could 
not  assume  a  cheerful  air.  He  determined,  in  his  own 
mind,  that  she  put  on  a  cross  look  to  reprove  him  for 
what  he  had  done,  and  he  was  not  going  to  be  thus  threat 
ened  like  a  child.  Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  during 
the  breakfast  hour,  until  Mr.  Fells,  in  tasting  a  cup  of 
coffee,  found  that  it  had  not  been  sweetened. 

"  This  coffee  is  as  bitter  as  your  looks — Give  me  some 
sugar  !" — said  he,  crossly. 

As  she  reached  him  the  sugar,  the  tears  started  from 
the  eyes  of  his  wife,  and  almost  blinded  her. 

"What  in  the  devil  are  you  blubbering  about  this 
24 


278  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

morning  ?    One  would  think  you  had  rruet  with  some  ter 
rible  calamity." 

She  sealed  her  lips  in  silence,  for  her  heart  was  too 
full  to  speak.  The  blow  had  fallen  too  suddenly  upon 
her. 

"If  you  expect  me  to  stay  at  home,"  continued  he, 
"  you  must  make  home  pleasant.  I  shall  not  stay  here  if 
there  are  to  be  clouds  and  rains  all  the  while." 

Even  to  this  Mrs.  Fells  spoke  not  a  word,  and  her  hus 
band  resumed  his  silent,  dogged  air. 

After  breakfast,  he  went  out  upon  the  little  farm,  and 
looked  to  some  improvements  that  were  going  on.  This 
gave  him  an  opportunity  for  reflection.  It  is  true  that  he 
spent  the  first  hour  in  blaming  his  wife  for  her  "  cross 
ness,"  as  he  called  it,  but  after  awhile  a  spark  of  feeling 
kindled  in  his  bosom,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  the  more 
criminal  of  the  two. 

And  Mrs.  Fells,  what  were  her  thoughts  !  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  done  anything,  since  he  had  returned,  to 
shake  the  dear  hopes  she  was  cherishing  in  her  bosom, 
and  she  could  not  help  showing  the  deep  distress  that 
passed  upon  her  stricken  heart.  But  now  that  she  had 
painful  evidence  of  the  effect  the  exhibition  of  such  dis 
tress  had  upon  her  husband,  true  to  the  character  of  a 
woman,  she  resolved  to  hide  deep  in  her  bosom  the  pain, 
and  to  meet  him  even  with  a  smiling  face. 

Such  reflections  and  resolutions  on  both  sides,  of  course, 
made  the  meeting  at  dinner-time  a  pleasanter  one.  Mr. 
Fells  came  to  the  house,  with  a  feeling  of  pity  for  his 
wife,  though  with  no  thought  of  conciliation  on  his  part, 
and  was  of  course  ready  for  the  salutary  effect  of  her 
altered  look  and  manner.  He  was  a  little  reserved  at 
first,  but  the  entire  change  in  his  wife  soon  re-assured  him, 
and  he  was  cheerful  and  talkative.  The  effect  which  this 
hiding  of  her  feelings  had  upon  hex  husband,  Mrs.  Fells 
thought  was  an  ample  reward  for  the  effort. 

The  allusion  which  he  had  made  while  drunk  to  an 
offer  to  go  into  business,  was  not  an  imaginary  one.  An 
individual,  to  whom,  while  half-intoxicated,  he  had  been 
boasting  of  the  fine  farm  which  he  owned,  had  suggested 
to  him  the  advantage  of  selling  it,  and  entering  into  busi 
ness  with  him  He  stated  that  he  was  now  clearing  so 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  279 

much  every  year,  and  if  he  could  only  add  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  to  his  capital,  and  a  partner  in  the  active 
business  of  the  concern,  he  could  quadruple  the  profits. 

In  a  day  or  two,  Fells  broached  the  subject  to  his  wife, 
but  she  opposed  it  at  once.  The  farm  she  said  now  yield 
ed  them  a  good  living,  and  he  was  more  removed  from 
temptation  there  than  in  the  city. 

Never  disposed  to  argue  a  point  with  his  wife,  and  un 
derstanding  at  once  that  she  had  no  confidence  in  him,  he 
got  terribly  angry,  and  threatened  to  sell  the  whole  pro 
perty  in  spite  of  her.  She  made  no  reply,  but  firmly  re 
solved  that  she  would  never  consent  to  have  the  property 
sold. 

Foiled  in  the  attempt  to  convince  his  wife  of  the  utility 
of  selling  the  farm,  he  determined  never  to  give  her  a 
kind  look  or  word,  until  she  consented  to  its  disposition. 
And  now  commenced  the  terrible  conflict — terrible,  did  I 
say  ?  Ay,  TERRIBLE  to  the  heart  of  a  suffering  wife ! 

From  the  rising  of  the  sun  to  its  going  down,  she  knew 
no  kind  look,  and  heard  no  word  from  her  husband  that 
was  not  a  word  of  anger  or  reproach.  Even  her  little 
children  saw  and  felt  the  change,  and  looked  fearful  and 
distressed.  Often  would  their  father  scold  and  beat  them, 
for  no  other  purpose,  it  seemed,  than  to  make  a  cause  for 
angry  contention  with  his  wife,  to  whom  they  would  fly 
for  protection,  and  who  was  ever  ready  to  meet  even  his 
anger  and  abuse  in  their  cause.  Frequently  he  would  go 
off  to  the  city,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  offering  the 
property  for  sale  to  the  highest  bidder; — generally,  on 
such  occasions,  he  would  come  home  intoxicated,  and, 
not  unfrequently  did  Mrs.  Fells  endure  more  than  hard 
words. 

Worn  out  at  last,  and  feeling  almost  regardless  of  con 
sequences,  —  Mrs.  Fells  consented  to  sell  the  farm,  and 
suffer  her  husband  to  go  into  business  with  the  proceeds. 
Her  approbation  being  once  gained,  little  time  was  lost  in 
disposing  of  it. 

It  was  a  sad  day  for  her,  when  she  left  this  refuge  from 
the  world  in  her  former  days  of  sore  distress,  and  left  it 
for  ever.  A  snug  two  story  house  was  rented  in  the  city, 
and  here  they  took  up  their  abode.  The  farm  brought 
fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  the  whole  of  this  was  invest- 


280  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

ed  in  a  grocery  store.  (The  affairs  of  the  person  who 
had  proposed  to  take  Fells  into  business  with  him,  had  for 
some  time  been  in  a  desperate  condition,  and  had  come  to 
a  crisis  some  months  previous.) 

I  will  not  take  the  reader  along,  step  by  step,  in  tracing 
the  course  of  this  man  down  to  beggary.  It  would  be 
but  consuming  his  own  time  and  mine  to  little  purpose. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  at  the  end  of  eighteen  months,  the 
grocery  store  had  dwindled  down  to  a  grog-shop,  with  a 
few  kegs  and  decanters  of  liquor,  a  box  or  two  of  her 
rings,  and  a  few  trifling  things  in  the  window,  to  make  a 
show.  To  this  grog-shop,  Fells  was  about  the  best  cus 
tomer.  For  some  months,  the  income  of  the  shop  had  been 
insufficient  to  support  the  family,  and  the  deficiency  Mrs. 
Fells  made  up  by  taking  in  plain  sewing.  He  was  gen 
erally  drunk  from  the  middle  of  the  day  until  night,  and 
during  that  time,  this  accomplished  and  sensitive  woman 
had  to  stand  behind  the  counter  and  mix  liquors  for  every 
worthless  drunken  vagabond  that  chose  to  enter.  To  this 
she  could  never  get  accustomed,  and  she  did  indeed  feel 
her  degradation,  while  thus  forced  to  partake  in  the  sin 
of  the  drunkard.  Many  and  many  a  time  did  her  heart 
bleed,  as  she  poured  out  the  maddening  draught  for  those 
she  knew  were  beggaring  their  families,  and  drinking  con 
fusion  to  their  wives  and  children.  But  the  end  after 
awhile  came  to  all  this.  Their  rent  having  remained  for 
some  time  unpaid,  their  landlord  seized  upon  their  things, 
and  turned  them  out  of  their  house  with  little  besides  the 
clothes  on  their  backs. 

There  lived  in  street,  in  a  splendid  mansion,  a 

lady,  who  had  once  been  seamstress  in  the  family  of  Mr. 
Power.  She  had  married  a  young  man  who  had  been 
enterprising  and  thrifty  in  business,  and  who  had  grown 
rich,  during  prosperous  times,  rapidly.  His  wife,  who 
was  a  proud,  ignorant,  and  vulgar  woman,  would  have 
everything  on  the  most  splendid  scale,  —  and  truly  their 
dwelling  showed  everything  in  costly  style,  if  not  in  all 
things  accordant  to  a  cultivated  taste.  Beside  the  man 
sion  of  this  lady,  was  a  poor  hovel  of  frame  work,  and 
only  one  story  high.  This  was  rented  by  Mr.  Fells,  arid 
here  his  needy  family  retired.  Creatures  so  poor  and  so 
abject  as  these,  were  not  noticed  by  the  purse-proud  Mrs. 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  281 

Conklen,  who  would  have  felt  that  there  was  contami 
nation  in  their  touch.  I  merely  mention  the  striking  fact 
of  the  reverse  in  the  fortunes  of  these  two  individuals, 
and  the  incident  of  their  being  thrown  beside  each  other 
in  their  altered  fortunes.  —  Many  of  my  readers  can  call 
to  mind  a  similar  fact. 

Mrs.  Fells'  two  children  were  still  living  —  one  four 
years  old,  and  the  other  between  two  and  three.  To  pro 
cure  food  and  raiment  for  these,  was  now  her  chief  con 
cern.  Persons  in  her  former  situation,  cannot  imagine 
how  they  would  get  along  if  reduced  to  abject  poverty, 
with  helpless  babes  dependent  on  their  labour,  and  not  a 
single  friend  in  the  world  to  help  them.  But  when  the 
trial  comes,  it  must  be  met,  and  the  difficulties  overcome. 
A  few  things  not  taken  by  the  selfish  landlord,  and  which 
could  be  spared,  were  sold,  and  food  enough  bought  to 
last  them  a  couple  of  weeks.  This  took  away  from  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Fells  the  confusion  of  immediate  want,  and 
she  sat  down  calmly  to  reflect  upon  the  best  course  she 
could  pursue.  There  were  no  families  in  the  neighbour 
hood  who  knew  that  she  could  or  would  do  fine  sewing, 
even  if  they  had  it  to  give  out.  At  last  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  apply  at  the  clothing  stores  for  work.  From 
these  she  got  coarse  shirts  to  make,  and  received  for  them 
eight  cents  apiece.  She  could  make  two  of  these  a  day, 
and  sometimes,  by  working  very  late,  three,  besides  attend 
ing  to  her  family.  It  was  indeed  but  a  small  pittance  that 
she  thus  earned,  but  it  was  at  least  a  protection  against 
complete  starvation. 

The  necessity  for  pinching  economy  forced  her  to  cut 
off  the  remnant  of  comforts  which  she  had  retained — tea, 
coffee,  and  milk,  except  a  little  for  the  youngest  child, 
were  banished  from  the  table,  and  the  principal  meals 
were  made  of  potatoes  and  dry  bread,  with  a  little  meat 
once  a  day.  There  were  four  of  them,  one  a  hearty  man, 
and  the  provision  for  all  these,  was  less  than  twenty-five 
cents  a  day.  Her  brute  of  a  husband  would  do  nothing, 
except  pile  lumber  occasionally  on  the  wharf,  or  some 
such  occasional  drudgery,  merely  for  the  purpose  of  get 
ting  liquor. 

There  resided  opposite  to  the  hovel  where  they  lived  a 
benevolent  lady,  who  had  for  sometime  noticed  the  move- 
24* 


282  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

ments  of  Mrs.  Fells,  but  had  no  idea  of  her  almost  entire 
destitution.  She  remarked  on  one  occasion  that  she  had 
not  seen  Mrs.  Fells  for  several  days,  and  determined  to 
call  in  and  ascertain  if  anything  was  the  matter. 

To  her  knock  at  the  door,  she  heard  a  feeble  "  come 
in,"  and  entering,  she  was  pained  at  heart,  to  note  so 
many  tokens  of  extreme  poverty.  The  only  furniture  to 
be  seen  was  a  pine  table,  a  few  broken  chairs,  some 
kitchen  utensils,  and  a  bedstead,  upon  which  were  placed 
a  few  old  quilts  to  answer  for  a  bed.  On  these  was  laid 
a  pale,  emaciated  form,  whose  eager  eyes  looked  search- 
ingly  into  her  face,  and  then  wandered  away  to  two  little 
children  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"I  am  sorry  to  find  you  sick,  ma'am,"  said  her  visiter. 
"  Are  you  very  ill  ?" 

'*  1  have  not  been  able  to  hold  up  my  head  this  whole 
day,  nor  to  sit  up  in  rny  bed  for  two  or  three." 

••  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  I  want  nothing,  ma'am,  but  my  poor  children  have 
had  but  little  to  eat  for  two  days,"  said  Mrs.  Fells,  burst 
ing  into  tears. 

"For  two  days  ?  Dreadful !  Poor  things  !"  and  the  good- 
hearted  woman,  lifted  them  up  from  the  floor,  gently,  thus 
arousing  them  from  slumber.  The  youngest  began  to 
moan  piteously,  the  oldest  to  cry  in  silence,  both  looking 
imploringly  towards  their  sick  mother — and  each  asking 
for  ««  bread."  The  mother  turned  her  head  away,  and 
sobbed  aloud. 

"  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  give  you  some  bread,"  said 
the  lady  to  them. 

The  children  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  turned  again 
to  their  mother,  moaning  and  crying  as  before. 

The  lady  left  the  house,  and  quickly  returned  with 
nourishing  food,  and  soon  had  the  delight  of  seeing  the 
little  ones  eagerly  satisfying  the  cravings  of  hunger. 

A  servant  had  been  dispatched  for  one  of  the  physicians 
for  the  poor,  who  happening  to  be  in,  came  round  imme 
diately.  He  bled  his  patient,  and  gave  her  medicines, 
and  the  kind  lady  who  had  been  a  friend  in  her  extremity, 
prepared  for  her,  with  her  own  hand,  nourishing  and  cooi- 
ing  drinks,  and  provided  a  sufficiency  of  food  for  her 
children.  She  also  sent  her  a  bed,  and  made  it  up  for 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  283 

ner  with  her  own  hands.  Every  morning,  while  she  re 
mained  sick,  she  made  a  servant  go  over  and  clean  up 
her  little  room,  and  see  that  she  had  a  good  breakfast ; 
and  she  always  looked  in  herself,  two  or  three  times 
during  the  day,  to  see  how  her  patient  and  her  children 
were  doing. 

When  Mrs.  Fells  got  better,  this  kind  woman  gave  her 
more  profitable  work  herself,  and  made  interest  for  her  in 
the  neighbourhood.  In  a  little  time  she  had  as  much  fine 
sewing  as  she  could  do,  for  which  she  obtained  a  good 
price;  but  with  her  most  active  industry  she  could  earn 
but  a  poor  support  for  herself  and  family. 

A  kind  friend  in  her  extremity  was,  to  Mrs.  Fells,  like 
bread  to  the  hungry.  It  had  been  a  long,  long  time  since 
any  one  had  seemed  to  care  for  her.  All  the  friends  of 
her  better  days  had  fallen  away,  like  leaves  from  the  sap- 
less  branches  in  autumn.  But  now  a  stranger  had  come 
to  her  humble  abode,  and  was  to  her  a  friend  and  a  parent. 
She  had  never,  in  all  her  keen  suffering,  lifted  her  heart 
to  God,  for  she  was  not  taught  early  to  pray.  But  when 
she  remembered  the  gentle,  unobtrusive,  and  heart-felt 
kindness  of  this  friend,  she  lifted  up,  almost  involuntarily, 
her  thoughts,  and  asked  of  God,  her  soul  melted  into  tears, 
to  shower  upon  her  his  choicest  blessings.  A  poet  has 
beautifully  said,  that  "Dear  unto  God  are  the  prayers  of 
the  poor"  —  For  my  part,  I  would  rather  have  had  the 
prayer  of  that  poor  mother  —  the  first  that  ever  went  up 
from  her  heart — than  the  prayers  of  all  Christendom. 

At  first,  many  kind  neighbours  joined  to  make  her  situa 
tion  comfortable,  but  finding  that  a  part  of  whatever  they 
did  went  to  support  a  drunken,  la/y  husband,  nearly  all 
relaxed  in  their  charitable  actions;  and  although  for  a 
while  Mrs.  Fells  got  along,  with  small  assistance,  quite 
comfortably,  yet  in  a  few  months,  she  was  nearly  forgot 
ten  by  all  save  one. 

From  some  cause  it  became  necessary  for  her  to  move 
away  from  her  neighbourhood,  and  beyond  the  reach  of 
her  kind  friend,  who  saw  nothing  more  of  her  for  many 
years.  What  she  suffered  in  that  lime  is  only  known  to 
Him  whose  eyes  are  abroad  upon  all  the  earth,  and  who 
comforlcth  the  poor  when  no  man  careth  for  them. 


284  HASTY      MARRIAGE. 

It  was  a  cold  morning  in  winter,  when  a  ragged  boy 
about  twelve  years  old,  knocked  at  the  door,  and,  on 
being  admitted,  said  that  Mrs.  Fells  had  sent  a  request 
that  she  would  come  and  see  her  before  she  died. 

"  Mrs.  Fells,  did  you  say  1  Certainly,  my  boy — Where 
does  she  live  ?" 

"  In street." 

"Whereabouts  in street?" 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  ma'am." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  ready  to  attend  the  boy. 
When  she  arrived  at  the  house,  she  was  conducted  up  an 
old  rickety  stair-case,  and  far  back  in  an  old  building, 
where,  on  a  comfortless  bed,  in  a  room  with  no  furniture 
but  a  couple  of  chairs,  and  a  broken  table,  lay  the  sick 
and  dying  wpman. 

"God  bless  you,  for  coming!"  said  she,  in  a  faint 
voice.  She  was  evidently  near  her  last  moments,  and 
sinking  rapidly. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?"  said  the  kind  lady. 

"  Yes,  one  thing,  and  it  is  for  this  I  have  sent  for  you. 
My  children !  I  could  not  part  with  them  while  I  lived ; 
but  there  is  a  relation  of  my  father's  who  never  cared  to 
look  after  me,  and  I  could  not  go  to  him.  I  want  you  to 
go  to  him  with  little  Mary,  after  I  am  dead,  and  ask  him, 
from  me,  to  take  her  into  his  family.  My  dying  request 
he  cannot  pass  by  lightly.  If  he  will  not  think  it  too 
much  trouble,  I  should  like  him  to  look  after  Charles." 

At  this  moment  her  husband  entered  with  a  minister. 
The  scene  which  followed  —  the  dying  scene  —  beggars 
description.  Fells  was  just  drunk  enough  to  be  a  perfect 
fool.  The  minister  was  evidently  much  annoyed  by  his 
familiar  manner;  for  he  talked  and  bustled  about  with  an 
air  of  great  importance.  The  dying  woman  turned  her 
eyes,  upon  the  man  of  God  as  he  came  in,  with  an  eager 
and  anxious  look.  He  took  his  seat  by  her  side  in  silence, 
and  for  some  moments  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

"Hadn't  you  better  pray  with  her,  sir?  she  is  sinking 
very  fast,"  said  her  husband,  in  a  tone  of  drunken  sorrow, 
sobbing  aloud  as  he  spoke. 

Under  the  circumstances,  nothing  better  could  be  done, 
and  the  minister  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  poured  out  his 
soul  in  prayer  for  the  dying  woman.  When  he  arose  up, 


HASTY     MARRIAGE.  285 

Fells  went  to  a  closet,  and  after  searching  about  for  some 
time,  produced  an  old  hymn-book,  tattered  and  torn,  and 
handing  it  to  the  minister,  said — 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  sing,  sir." 

The  minister  took  the  book  in  silence,  and  then  turning 
to  the  sick  woman,  commenced  talking  to  her  in  a  low 

tone. 

****** 

For  more  than  an  hour  had  the  minister  talked  and 
prayed  with  her,  and  now  she  began  to  fail  rapidly.  He 
suggested  that  she  should  receive  the  symbols  of  the 
broken  body  and  shed  blood  of  the  Saviour. 

"  O,  sir,  I  am  unworthy." 

"  But  no  one  is  worthy." 

"  O,  sir,  I  cannot  partake  of  the  sacred  symbols.  To 
me  that  sacrament  has  presented  an  act  so  hallowed,  that 
I  never  could  feel  like  approaching  —  I  fear  to  eat  Uh- 
V/orthily." 

"  You  cannot  eat  unworthily,  if  you  are  sincere.  Do 
not  make  the  ceremony  greater  than  the  Lord  of  the  cere 
mony.  If  you  can  approach  Christ  and  be  accepted, 
surely  you  can  approach  his  table." 

At  the  word  sacrament,  Mr.  Fells  was  off  in  a  moment 
to  a  store  for  some  wine,  and  on  returning,  had  got  a 
piece  of  hard  bread  from  the  closet.  He  stood  for  a  few 
moments  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  the  minister  could 
not  see  him,  with  a  bottle  containing  some  wine  in  one 
hand,  and  the  bread  in  the  other,  enforcing  the  minister's 
arguments  by  sundry  threatening  looks,  and  whispered 
curses.  At  this  dreadful  sight,  Mrs.  Fells  closed  her  eyes, 
but  could  not  shut  it  out  from  her  imagination.  The 
minister  ceased  speaking — and  Fells  taking  advantage  of 
the  pause,  said — 

"Here  is  the  wine,  sir,  get  ready,  and  she  SHALL 
take  it." 

The  poor  woman  turned  her  dying  eyes  upon  the  min 
ister,  and  murmured, 

"  I  will  take  it,  sir." 

The  minister  never  broke  sacred  bread  under  more 
solemn  emotions.  Kneeling  beside  the  bed  where  lay  one 
of  the  same  family,  of  which  his  God  was  the  God  and 


286  HASTY     MARRIAGE. 

Father,  he  lifted  up,  with  tearful  eyes,  his  heart,  and 
prayed,  that  God  would  seal  the  peace  of  his  dying 
servant. 

He  then  placed  the  consecrated  bread  upon  her  lips, 
and  poured  for  her  the  blood  of  the  New  Covenant ; — and, 
even  while  she  drank  of  the  cup,  her  spirit  passed  away — 
to  eat  of  the  bread  of  life,  and  to  drink  the  new  wine  in 
the  kingdom  of  her  Father. 

Thus  ends  the  sad  history  of  this  poor  victim  of  a  hasty 
and  injudicious  marriage.  The  lesson  needs  no  words  of 
mine  to  enforce  it.  As  to  the  dying  scene,  that  is  true  to 
the  letter.  I  had  it  from  the  lips  of  her  own  son,  upon 
wnose  young  mind  it  made  a  strong  and  painful  impres 
sion.  The  drunken  father  died  soon  after  in  the  alms- 
bouse. 


THE  APRIL  FOOL. 


"HADN'T  we  the  fun  with  old  Mr.  Bender,  Tom !" 

"  Hadn't  we !"  returned  the  lad,  thus  addressed.  "  Oh, 
but  wasn't  he  mad!" 

Thus  spoke  two  boys  together,  on  returning  from  school 
at  dinner  time,  on  the  first  day  of  April.  Their  mother, 
overhearing  their  words,  said — 

"What  about  Mr.  Bender,  boys?" 

"  Oh,  we  had  such  fun  with  him,  mother,  as  we  went  to 
school  this  morning,"  replied  Tom. 

"  And  he  was  so  mad,"  said  Harry,  the  brother  of  Tom. 

"  Why  did  he  get  angry  with  you  ?"  inquired  the  mother. 

"  We  made  such  a  fool  of  him,"  was  answered. 

"Of  old  Mr.  Bender?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Tom  tore  from  a  fence  a  part  of  a  show 
bill,  on  which  was  printed  'Great  Excitement,'  and  stole 
up  behind  Mr.  Bender  and  pinned  it  fast  to  his  coat.  Then 
hadn't  we  the  fun  !" 

"  And  didn't  he  get  mad  !  All  the  boys  pointed  at  him, 
and  called  him  '  April  Fool ;'  and  the  men  laughed.  Oh  ! 
it  was  such  fun  !" 

The  mother  of  the  boys  did  not  smile  at  this,  but  looked 
very  serious. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  she,  "that  you  did  this,  my  boys. 
It  was  wrong." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  only  for  fun,  mother.  To-day  is  the 
first  of  April,  you  know,  and  he  needn't  have  got  so  angry 
about  it.  It  only  made  the  people  laugh  at  him  the  more. 
But,  he  is  such  a  cross  old  fellow." 

"  My  children,"  said  the  mother,  "let  me  tell  you  some 
thing  that  happened  to-day." 

25  289 


290  THE    APRIL    FOOL. 

The  little  boys  became  serious,  and  came  up  close  to 
their  mother  and  listened. 

"You  know,"  said  she,  "that  Mrs.  Judkins  has  been 
sick  all  winter  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  was  answered. 

"And  that  she  is  poor?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  her  Andrew,  who  is  no  older  than  you,  Henry,  had 
to  be  taken  from  school  and  put  to  work  in  a  printing- 
office,  where  he  has  been  receiving  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
a  week.  Yesterday  the  little  fellow  heard  that  Mr.  Bender 
wanted  an  office  lad,  and  that  he  would  pay  one  that  suited 
him  two  dollars  a  week.  The  situation  would,  besides 
yielding  him  more  money,  be  much  easier,  and  he  would 
have  time  and  opportunity  to  improve  his  mind. 

"  So  Andrew  told  his  mother  about  it,  and  she  agreed 
with  him  that  it  was  best  to  call  upon  Mr.  Bender,  who 
had  known  his  father,  and  befriended  him  while  living  on 
more  than  one  occasion. 

"  'I'm  sure  he  will  take  me,'  said  the  eager  boy,  as  he 
left  home,  '  and  oh,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  get  away  from 
the  printing-office !' 

"  A  little  while  before  nine  o'clock,  Andrew  stepped 
around  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Bender,  which  was  not  far  from 
where  he  worked.  He  opened  the  door  and  went  in  with 
a  hopeful  yet  trembling  heart.  Mr.  Bender  sat  in  his 
great  arm  chair,  with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  Looking 
up  as  the  door  turned  on  its  hinges,  he  fixed  an  angry  look 
upon  the  boy,  and  said  in  a  sharp,  quick  voice — 

"  '  What  do  you  want  ?  ha !' 

"Poor  Andrew's  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground  by 
this  reception.  He  stammered  out — 

"  c Do  you  want  a  boy,  sir?' 

" '  No !  Clear  out,  you  little  rascal !'  replied  the  old 
man,  in  a  rough,  excited  voice. 

"  The  lad  turned  away,  without  a  word  more,  and  went 
back  to  the  printing-office.  But,  his  heart  was  almost 
broken  by  the  rude  repulse  and  disappointment.  Now, 
my  boys,  can  you  tell  why  Mr.  Bender,  who  is,  in  the 
main,  a  kind-hearted  man,  repulsed  Andrew  Judkin  so 
harshly?" 


THE    APRIL    FOOL.  291 

"  He  was  angry  about  something,  I  suppose,"  said 
Thomas. 

"  Can  you  guess  what  that  something  was  ?" 

"  Was  it  because  we  made  him  an  April  fool  ?" 

"  Most  probably,"  returned  the  mother.  "  You  say  he 
was  very  angry  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  He  was  as  mad  as  he  could  be,  and  shook  his 
fist  at  us." 

"  You  had  your  fun,  as  you  call  it,"  said  the  mother  of 
the  boys,  "  but  poor  Andrew  Judkin  has,  in  all  probability, 
lost  a  good  place  in  consequence.  He  will  hardly  venture 
back  again  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Bender." 

"I  don't  think,"  remarked  one  of  the  lads,  "that  it 
was  very  manly  in  Mr.  Bender  to  get  into  a  passion  just 
because  we  made  him  an  April  fool.  We  played  tricks 
on  other  men  ;  but  they  only  laughed  at  us,  and  so  we  had 
fun  all  around." 

"  All  men  are  not  alike,"  was  replied  to  this.  "  Some 
are  sensitive  on  one  point,  and  some  on  another.  Few 
persons  can  bear  ridicule,  though  some  have  the  power  to 
conceal  its  effects,  while  others  have  not.  Mr.  Bender 
has,  naturally,  a  quick,  irritable  temper,  and  is,  besides, 
sensitive  to  ridicule.  Such  being  the  case,  it  was  scarcely 
possible  for  him  not  to  get  angry  when  two  little  boys  were 
so  rude  as  to  make  sport  of  him  in  the  street.  No  doubt  he 
felt  mortified  afterward  for  having  thus  lost  his  self-con 
trol  ;  but  ere  there  had  been  time  enough  for  this  change 
in  his  feelings  to  occur,  poor  Andrew  came  with  his  peti 
tion,  and  received  an  angry  repulse." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Harry,  appearing  troubled,  "  that  I 
made  fun  of  Mr.  Bender.  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  have  done 
so,  if  I'd  thought  he  was  going  to  get  so  very  angry.  But, 
if  we  did  wrong,  I  don't  think  he  did  right  in  treating 
Andrew  as  he  did.  Andrew  didn't  make  fun  of  him." 

"  All  injustice  is  wrong,  my  son,"  replied  the  mother, 
"  and,  therefore,  Mr.  Bender  did  wrong.  Still,  the  wrong 
was  done  while  he  was,  as  it  were,  not  himself,  and  not 
really  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing.  You  were  to 
blame  for  wantonly  insulting  him,  and  thus  producing  the 
state  of  mind  from  which  he  acted.  Yours  was  the  first 
aggression,  and  therefore  you  are  quite  as  much  responsi- 


292  THE     APRIL    FOOL. 

ble  as  Mr.  Bender  for  the  wrong  done  to  poor  Andrew 
Judkin." 

The  boys  looked  sober.  Their  mother  added — 
"  Never,  my  children,  seek  pleasure  at  the  expense  of 
another.  Think,  before  you  make  sport  of  any  one,  how 
you  would  feel  if  subject  to  a  like  annoyance.  There  is  a 
Golden  Rule  by  which  your  actions  should  ever  be  govern 
ed — *  As  ye  would  that  men  would  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even 
so  to  them.'  Remember  this,  hereafter,  and  set  a  guard 
upon  yourselves,  lest  you  break  it.  There  are  sources 
enough  of  pleasure  in  the  world,  without  seeking  it  in  a 
trespass  upon  the  rights  of  others." 


THE 

COLD-WATER  WEDDING. 


"  HARRY  SOMERS  is  to  be  married  to-night." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  is  going  to  get  a  sweet,  good  girl,  for  a  wife. 
Ellen  Lewis  is  a  prize  worth  gaining." 

"  She  certainly  is.  But,  I  'm  afraid  she 's  about  getting 
the  worst  of  the  bargain." 

"  How  strange  a  remark  for  you  to  make  !  —  you  who 
know  Harry  Somers  so  well,  and  have  always  seemed  to 
esteem  him  so  highly." 

"So  I  have;  and  so  I  still  do.  But  then  he  is,  in  my 
opinion,  a  little  bit  of  the  fool.  And  Ellen,  you  know,  is 
a  girl  of  sense." 

"  I  never  saw  anything  about  Harry  to  lead  me  to  such 
a  conclusion." 

"  Well,  maybe  the  term  fool  is  a  little  too  strong.  But 
what  I  meant  to  convey,  was,  that  he  has  many  queer 
notions  of  his  own,  which  I  am  sure  Ellen,  with  her  plain 
good  sense,  never  will  be  able  to  tolerate." 

"  I  never  discovered  anything  singular  in  his  opinions 
and  actions,"  the  friend  replied,  "  and  I  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  him." 

"  You  have  noticed,  I  presume,  that  when  he  takes  an 
idea  into  his  head,  there  is  no  beating  it  out  of  him." 

"If  the  idea  be  a  true  one,  I  think  it  would  be  hard 
work  to  make  him  give  it  up,  certainly." 

"No,  but  true  or  false  —  it  is  all  the  same  with  him. 
And  then  he  will  take  up  notions  of  his  own,  and  stick  to 
them,  though  he  become  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole 
world." 

"Name  one  of  these  notions." 

"  That  I  can  do  very  easily.  There  is  to  be  no  wine 
at  his  wedding,  to-night." 

" Indeed  !" 

"  It 's  as  true  as  I  live.     He  set  his  head,  I  fim  told,  that 

25*  (293) 


294  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

not  a  drop  of  wine  should  be  served  at  his  wedding ;  and 
Ellen  arid  her  family  had  to  give  in  to  him,  though  it  was 
done  with  great  reluctance." 

"  That  is,  certainly,  a  strange  notion  for  him." 

"  Aint  it  1" 

"  I  suppose  he  has  joined  the  tee-totallers  ?" 

"  No,  1  believe  not — It  all  arises  from  some  whim  of  his 
own,  I  presume.  —  No  doubt  from  a  foolish  desire  to  ap 
pear  singular." 

"  Henry  Somers  never  acts  from  such  motives.  He  is 
a  man  of  too  much  good  sense." 

"Then,  pray,  what  other  motive  could  he  have?" 

"  He  might  have  many  good  ones ;  and  I  have  not  the 
least  doubt  that,  in  this  matter,  he  is  governed  by  pure 
and  just  principles." 

"  Principles  !  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  has 
wine  at  a  wedding  to  do  with  principle]" 

"  It  may  have  much  to  do  with  principle.'' 

*'  I  cannot  see  how." 

"  Wait  patiently,  and  you  will,  no  doubt,  be  fully  satis 
fied." 

"No  doubt.     But  do  you  intend  going?" 

"  O,  certainly." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go." 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  will  be  a  dull,  silly  affair,  I  suppose." 

"Don't  you  believe  it." 

"  I  do,  then.  Why,  every  one  will  be  so  affected  with 
a  sense  of  the  ridiculousness  of  the  farce  played  off,  that 
all  true  rational  pleasure  will  be  lost.  If  I  were  to  go,  I 
could  not  look  you  or  any  one  else  in  the  face  without 
laughing,  to  save  my  life.  A  wedding,  and  no  wine! 
Ridiculous !" 

"I  cannot  see  anything  so  very  ridiculous  in  it,  Mudie; 
nor  will  you,  I  am  very  much  inclined  to  think,  if  you 
venture  to  go." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  may,  if  it 's  only  to  enjoy  a  good 
hearty  laugh  after  it 's  all  over." 

The  two  young  men  then  parted.  Their  names  were 
Mudie  and  Lee. 

"  I  really  have  no  heart  to  go  into  company  any  more," 
remarked  Adeline  Whiteman,  to  her  sister  Eleanor,  sitting 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  295 

down  with  a  dispirited  air,  as  she  paused  in  the  work  of 
dressing  herself  for  Ellen  Lewis's  wedding. 

"  Why  not,  sister?"  asked  Eleanor. 

"  Because,  as  you  know,  brother  always  will  drink  too 
much  when  he  gets  into  company  —  and  it  makes  me  feel 
wretched.  Last  week  at  Mrs.  Wheeler's  party,  you  re 
member  how  silly  he  made  himself!  I  was  so  hurt  and 
mortified  that  I  could  have  sunk  into  the  floor." 

"  Indeed  I  do  remember  it.  All  my  pleasure  for  tne 
evening  was  spoiled.  And  so  was  cousin  Mary's.  I 
tried  once  or  twice  to  sing  and  play,  and  thus  add  my 
mite  to  the  general  enjoyment.  But  I  could  not  do  it  with 
any  heart,  and  was  conscious  that  my  performances  were 
failures.  Indeed,  I  heard  a  gentleman  remark  in  a  low 
tone  to  his  partner: 

"  *  How  indifferently  Eleanor  plays  to-night !' 

"  I  felt  that  what  he  said  was  just.  But  I  could  not 
help  being  hurt,  for  the  cause  of  my  failure  was  one  so 
painful  as  to  break  down  my  spirits." 

"  And  I,"  resumed  her  sister — "  tried  my  best  to  dance 
with  some  life.  But  in  vain.  My  feelings  were  so  de 
pressed  that  my  very  body  lost  its  buoyancy,  and  my  feet 
felt  like  lead.  I  had  at  last  to  go  and  sit  down,  and  refuse 
to  dance  any  more,  though  frequently  solicited." 

"Why,"  asked  Eleanor,  "could  not  wine  and  all  kinds 
of  intoxicating  drinks  be  banished  from  social  parties? 
They  are  not,  really,  needed ;  and  at  this  time,  when  so 
many  have  acquired  a  slavish  love  of  drink,  it  seems  to 
me  not  only  wrong  to  put  a  temptation  in  their  way,  but 
really  unkind  to  a  company,  met  for  social  enjoyment, 
thus  to  endanger  their  pleasant  intercourse.  All  know, 
that  if  one  becomes  partially  intoxicated,  it  dampens  the 
feelings  of  the  rest.  And  especially,  if  that  one  have  a 
wife,  a  mother,  or  a  sister  present." 

"  You  remember,  of  course,  the  unpleasant,  and,  indeed, 
painful  occurrence  that  took  place  last  winter  at  Mrs. 
Wolcott's." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  !  Poor  Jane  Morven  !  How  my  heart  did 
ache  for  her !  I  was  sitting  by  her  when  she  first  noticed 
that  her  husband  had  been  drinking  too  much.  He  came 
up  and  asked  me  to  dance  with  him.  I  observed  that  he 
had  a  strange  look  and  manner,  and  felt  an  instant  disin 


296  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

clination  to  go  upon  the  floor,  and  therefore  politely 
excused  myself.  He  insisted,  however,  in  a  rude  way ; 
and  I,  to  prevent  observation,  consented.  I  turned  to 
wards  his  wife  as  I  arose.  Her  face  was  pale  as  ashes! 
I  instantly  guessed  the  cause,  which  soon  became  too 
plainly  apparent,  even  to  me.  Mr.  Morven  could  not  go 
through  a  single  figure,  and  acted  so  badly  that  he  broke 
up  the  cotillion  in  a  few  minutes.  As  soon  as  this  occur 
red,  I  returned  and  took  my  place  beside  his  wife." 

" '  O,  Eleanor,  is  it  not  dreadful  V  she  said,  the  tears 
dimming  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  her  pale,  sad  face,  to 
wards  me. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  reply,  but  merely  respond 
ed — 

** '  It  is,  indeed,  Jane/  And  then  there  followed  a  long, 
and,  to  both  of  us,  a  painfully  embarrassing  silence.  This 
was  broken  by  the  appearance  of  her  husband,  who,  still 
more  intoxicated,  came  up,  and  standing  before  us,  went 
on  with  a  parcel  of  drivelling  nonsense  for  about  five 
minutes,  that  disgusted  me  as  much  as  it  must  have  pain 
ed  and  mortified  his  poor  wife.  Just  then,  a  friend  of  his 
who  saw  his  condition,  considerately  drew  him  aside,  and 
prevailed  on  him  to  go  home.  Jane  was  quietly  informed 
that  he  was  about  leaving,  and  as  quietly  withdrew,  much 
to  the  relief  of  many,  who  saw,  and  deeply  pitied  her 
situation." 

"  If  there  had  been  neither  wine  nor  brandy  tendered 
to  their  guests  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wolcott,  on  that  even 
ing,"  Adeline  remarked,  "  how  much  of  exquisite  suffer 
ing  to  at  least  one  heart  might  have  been  saved!  For 
more  than  three  months,  Mr.  Morven,  conscious  of  his 
weakness,  had  steadily  persevered  in  refraining  from  the 
use  of  liquor.  The  consequence  was,  that  Jane  had  begun 
to  feel  a  degree  of  confidence  and  hope  that  she  had  not 
experienced  for  a  long  time.  The  temptation  offered  her 
husband  at  that  party  was  too  strong,  and  he  fell;  and 
fell,  alas!  into  a  perfect  abandonment  of  himself,  for  many 
weeks,  to  the  insane  pleasures  of  intoxication. 

" « It  sometimes  seems,  Adeline,'  she  said  to  me  one 
day,  during  this  period,  leaning  her  head  upon  my  shoulder, 
and  giving  way  to  tears,  *  that  my  heart  must  break !  O, 
it  is  a  terrible  affliction  for  one  so  young  as  I,  and  all  un- 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  297 

fitted  to  bear  the  lot  of  misery  too  surely  in  reversion  for 
me:"' 

"  I  could  only  weep  with  her,  for  I  could  give  no  word 
of  comfort.  I  felt  that  there  was  something  so  hopeless 
about  her  lot,  that  it  would  be  like  mockery  to  offer  vain 
words  of  encouragement.  But  I  must  not  sit  here,  giv- 
ng  way  to  desponding  thoughts.  To  the  wedding  we 
must  go." 

"Yes.  —  Our  families  are  too  intimate,  for  us  to  think 
of  not  going.  And  Ellen  is  one  of  my  dearest  friends. 
I  am  glad  she  is  about  to  do  so  well.  —  Henry  Somers  is 
a  young  man  of  sterling  principles." 

"  Brother  Edward  will  go,  of  course  " 

"  O,  yes,  of  course.  He  told  me  to-day,  that  he  should 
be  there." 

"  I  do  hope  he  will  have  prudence  enough  not  to  drink 
too  much.  But  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  it.  He  so  soon 
forgets  himself." 

The  two  young  ladies  then  proceeded  to  dress  for  the 
wedding,  with  heavy  hearts.  At  the  appointed  time,  ac 
companied  by  their  brother,  they  entered  Mr.  Lewis's 
brilliantly  lighted  parlours,  already  filled  with  a  gay  com 
pany  assembled  to  witness  the  marriage  ceremony.  For 
half  an  hour  or  so,  a  light  and  lively  conversation  ran 
round  the  room,  which  was  broken  by  the  entrance  of  the 
parties  to  be  united.  The  minister  met  them  as  they  came 
in,  and  immediately  the  impressive  ceremony  began,  and 
soon  progressed  to  its  termination.  All  was  then  for  a 
few  moments  salutes  and  congratulations,  with  a  moving 
to  and  fro,  and,  a  mingling  of  all  together  in  one  mass  of 
happy  confusion.  Then  order  was  gradually  and  spon 
taneously  restored,  and  servants  entered  with  the  bride's 
cake.  For  a  few  moments,  Adeline  and  Eleanor  had  for 
gotten  their  fears  in  the  delight  they  experienced  from 
seeing  their  young  friend  so  happy.  The  sight  of  the 
waiters  and  refreshments  recalled  them  to  a  painful  recol 
lection  of  the  danger  they  so  much  dreaded.  Both  felt  a 
sickening  sensation  pass  over  them.  But  they  rallied  their 
feelings  with  an  effort. 

"  I  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morven  here,"  Adeline  remarked 
to  her  sister. 


298  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  And  I  suppose  Jane's  poor  heart 
is  trembling." 

"  No  doubt."  Then  after  a  pause — "  That  is  not  wine, 
surely,  that  the  servants  are  passing  around  ?" 

"  O,  yes.  Whoever  heard  of  anything  but  wine  follow 
ing  the  bride's  cake?" 

"  If  it  is  wine,  it  is  white,  and  contained  in  lemonade- 
glasses  !" 

"  Lemonade-glasses?  Sure  enough !  But  it  cannot  pos 
sibly  be  lemonade  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  expect  so,  and  most  earnestly  do  I  hope  that 
it  is !  How  much  more  refreshing  as  a  beverage  than 
wine !" 

"To  me  it  is.  But  we  will  soon  see.  For  here  it 
comes." 

As  Eleanor  said  this,  the  servant  paused  before  her,  and 
she  lifted  a  glass  from  the  waiter  which  he  bore,  and 
placed  it  to  her  lips. 

"  All  right,  sister,"  she  said,  in  a  cheerful  tone. 

"  But  isn't  it  a  strange  idea  ?"  remarked  Adeline. 

"  It 's  a  very  good  idea." 

"  So  it  is.     But  I  wonder  if  wine  will  not  be  served." 

"No  doubt  it  will.  But  how  happy  I  should  be,  and 
how  happy  poor  Jane  Morven  would  be,  if  nothing 
stronger  than  lemonade  were  offered  to  the  company !" 

"  This  is  very  refreshing,  Mr.  Mudie,"  remarked  a  lady 
by.  the  side  of  that  young  gentleman,  as  she  sipped,  with 
an  air  of  satisfaction,  her  cool  lemonade,  perfectly  uncon 
scious  of  the  omission  to  serve  wine  that  had  been  allow 
ed  to  take  place. 

"  Very  refreshing,  indeed  !"  responded  the  young  man, 
raising  his  glass  to  his  lips,  involuntarily,  and  sipping,  in 
turn,  the  pleasant  beverage.  "  On  a  warm  evening  like 
this,  nothing  is  more  grateful  to  the  taste." 

"  Why,  look  how  lively  and  cheerful  Adeline  Whiteman 
and  her  sister  have  grown  all  at  once,"  said  his  compan 
ion,  directing  Mr.  Mudie's  attention  towards  the  young 
ladies  to  whom  she  had  alluded.  "They  have  seemed 
dull  ever  since  they  came  into  the  room." 

"  So  I  remarked.  But  a  gleam  of  sunshine  appears 
suddenly  to  have  fallen  upon  them." 

"  At  the  last  party  where  I  met  them,"  resumed  the 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  299 

Jady — "  they  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  but  little.  Both 
sing  and  play  exquisitely,  and  dance  with  almost  unequal 
led  grace  and  spirit ;  but  of  late,  in  parties,  they  have  not 
seemed  themselves.  Their  playing  has  not  been  so  skil 
ful  ;  and  only  in  plaintive  and  touching  airs,  have  they  for 
some  time  exhibited  their  musical  powers.  In  these,  they 
sometimes,  especially  when  they  sing  together,  move  yo 
almost  to  tears." 

"  It  is  strange,  is  it  not  ?"  the  young  man  said,  musingly 

"It  certainly  is.  Something  is,  no  doubt,  wrong  at 
home.  But  as  to  its  nature,  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  a  little  strange  that  they  should  have 
brightened  up  so  suddenly  V 

"  It  does,  indeed.  There,  do  you  see  that  sweet,  happy 
smile,  how  it  melts  over,  and  makes  radiant  every  feature 
of  Eleanor's  lovely  face,  as  she  replies  to  some  question 
put  to  her  by  Mr.  Lewis,  who  has  just  come  up,  and  is 
passing,  no  doubt,  merely  the  simple  compliments  of  the 
evening." 

"  How  like  the  smile  that  used  to  play  there  a  few 
months  ago ;  but  of  late,  strangely  banished  from  its  lovely 
resting  place  !  What  can  be  the  cause  of  the  change  that 
has  taken  place  in  both  of  them  during  the  past  year?" 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  the  lady  replied,  "  that 
their  brother  is  becoming  dissipated.  He  almost  always 
drinks  too  much  on  an  occasion  like  this,  and  sometimes 
makes  himself  very  foolish." 

"  Yes,  I  have  noticed  this  several  times,  and  it  may  be 
that  this  has  something  to  do  with  the  change  that  has 
taken  place  in  them.  It  must  mortify  and  pain  them  ex 
ceedingly." 

"  So  I  should  think.  You  remember  how  much  he 
was  out  of  the  way  a  few  weeks  ago  at  your  house." 

"Yes,  very  well.  So  much  so  that  I  was  not  only 
mortified  at  his  conduct,  but  so  offended  with  him,  as 
almost  to  resolve  never  again  to  invite  him  to  the  house. 
Were  it  not  for  his  interesting  sisters,  I  am  sure  that  I 
would  not." 

"  I  observed,  on  that  occasion,"  remarked  the  lady, 
with  whom  Mudie  was  conversing,  "  that  the  spirits  of 
the  sisters  seemed  to  droop,  as  he  became  more  and  more 


300  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

excited  with  drink,  and  that  their  eyes  often  followed  him 
about  with  a  sad  expression." 

"  How  I  do  pity  them!"  Mudie  said,  in  an  earnest  sym 
pathising  tone.  "  But  they  need  have  no  fears  to-night." 

"  Why  not,  Mr.  Mudie'!" 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  this  was  to  be  a  kind  of  cold- 
water  wedding  ?"  returned  the  young  man  with  a  broad 
smile. 

"  No,"  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  It  is,  then." 

"  A  cold-water  wedding !  I  don't  know  that  I  exactly 
understand  you,  Mr.  Mudie." 

"  A  wedding  at  which  there  is  to  be  nothing  stronger 
than  cold-water  to  drink,  or  lemonade,  which  is  the  same 
thing.  But  isn't  it  a  queer  notion  ?" 

"  It  is  certainly  something  new  to  me ;  but  the  idea 
seems  most  excellent,  seeing  that  the  pleasure  of  an 
evening  like  this  is  so  often  marred  by  the  departure  of 
some  weak  one  from  true  sobriety.  Especially  to  two 
young  ladies  situated  as  Adeline  and  Eleanor  Whiteman 
are,  it  is  an  act  of  true  charity." 

"  No  doubt  it  is.  But  I  presume  it  will  be  a  dull  affair. 
Without  a  little  wine,  now  and  then,  to  bring  up  the  spirits, 
a  social  party  must  be  a  laboured  affair." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  that  need  be,  Mr.  Mudie.  Now,  I 
for  one,  never  drink  wine,  and  I  could  point  you  to  a 
dozen  other  ladies  in  the  room  who  do  not.  Neither  of 
us,  I  believe,  is  at  all  famed  for  dulness  in  company.  I 
know  you  will  give  me  credit,  at  least,  for  not  sitting  all 
the  evening  with  my  hands  in  my  lap,  and  simpering  out 
a  feeble,  '  yes  sir,'  and  *  no  sir,'  to  all  that  is  said  to  me." 

"  O,  yes,  I  will  give  you  credit  for  being  lively  enough. 
But  every  one  hasn't  your  flow  of  spirits.  I,  for  instance, 
always  feel  my  tongue  and  my  ideas,  too,  locked  up,  until 
the  wine  begins  to  circulate." 

"  Excuse  me  for  saying,  Mr.  Mudie,  that  I  do  not  per 
ceive  but  that  your  ideas  flow  very  readily,  and  that  I  can 
see  no  fault  in  your  expression  of  them." 

"I  don't  know  how  it  may  seem  to  you,  madam,  but  I 
am,  myself,  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  constraint,  that  I 
should  not  experience,  if  I  had  taken  a  glass  or  two  of 
wine.  I  am  not  only  at  a  loss  for  subjects  of  conversa- 


COLD     WATER     WEDDING.  301 

tion,  but  do  not  find  language  so  readily,  nor  experience 
that  ease  and  self-possession  that  I  do  under  the  gentle 
excitement  of  a  little  generous  wine." 

"  You  can  bear  to  hear  the  truth,  can  you  not,  Mr. 
Mudie?"  his  companion  said,  in  a  graver  tone,  looking 
him  with  a  kind,  but  more  serious  expression,  in  the  face. 

"  From  you,  I  can,  madam." 

"  Are  you  sure  V9 

"  O,  yes,  I  am  sure  of  that.  Speak  plainly,  and  to  the 
point." 

"  That  is  a  privilege  that  we  married  ladies  sometimes 
take,  especially  after  we  have  attained  some  little  age  on 
one  side,  with  it  corresponding  experience." 

"  Don't  be  afraid.     I  can  bear  the  truth." 

"  Very  well.  I  have  met  you  in  company  a  good  many 
times  within  the  last  two  years ;  and  have  observed  you 
about  as  carefully  as  I  observe  most  young  men  whom  I 
thus  meet — and  that  is  pretty  closely.  Now,  the  result  of 
this  is,  that  I  like  your  company  and  conversation  at  the 
beginning  of  a  party,  but  never  towards  the  end." 

"Why  not,  Mrs. V 

"  The  reason  is  easily  given.  Before  the  generous  wine 
takes  effect,  you  are,  to  me,  an  intelligent  and  rational 
young  man." 

"  But  Mrs. ,  I  never  drink  too  much  wine,"  the 

young  man  said,  in  surprise. 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  there  is,  certainly,  to  me,  a  very 
great  change  in  you,  always,  towards  the  conclusion  of  a 
social  party." 

"  You  must  really  be  mistaken,  madam." 

"  Persons  of  my  age  and  habits  of  observation  are 
rarely  mistaken  in  a  matter  like  this,  Mr.  Mudie." 

"  You  surprise  and  pain  me  greatly,  Mrs. .  Can 

what  you  say  be  really  true,  or  only  the  effect  of  your  own 
imagination'?" 

"  Trust,  me,  my  dear  sir,  that  all  I  say  is  too  true. 
More  than  once  has  my  attention  been  called  to  the  fact 
by  others,  thus  corroborating  what  I  thought  I  saw  my 
self.  But  you  are  not  alone  in  this,  my  young  friend.  1 
could  name  to  you  several  of  your  acquaintances,  who, 
while  they  think  that  they  are  making  themselves  pecu 
liarly  interesting  in  a  party,  are  rendering  themselves  in 
26 


802  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

the  eyes  of  not  a  few,  extremely  foolish.  Their  suavity 
of  manners,  their  briliant  sayings,  indeed,  the  whole  tenor 
of  all  that  appertains  to  them  while  under  the  excitement 
of  '  generous  wine,'  are  sometimes  seen  and  heard  with 
pain  or  disgust." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  Mrs. ,  you  draw  too  strong  a  pic 
ture." 

"  Perhaps  I  do.  But  could  I  draw  such  a  picture  with 
out  something  of  an  original?  Let  me,  however,  refer  to 
Mrs. ,  here,  who  has  been  listening  to  our  conversa 
tion." 

The  lady  referred  to,  a  mutual  acquaintance  said,  in 
answer  to  the  appeal, 

"  Like  you,  Mrs. ,  I  have  too  frequently  observed, 

that  after  a  few  glasses  of  wine  at  a  party,  and,  perhaps, 
a  little  brandy,  too,  from  the  side-board,  our  young  men 
become  much  livelier:  but  lose  a  measure  of  their  intelli 
gence,  and  of  course,  their  interest  for  me.  They  talk 
much  more  freely,  but  the  superaoundance  is  mere  froth, 
that  conceals  the  body  and  soul  of  genuine  rationality. 
They  can  bow  and  smile,  and  gracefully  incline  their  • 
bodies  into  attitudes,  but " 

"  Say  no  more  —  say  no  more,  if  you  please !"  Mr. 
Mudie  ejaculated,  interrupting  the  lady  who  had  been 
referred  to ;  "  or,  I  shall  be  so  mortified  that  I  cannot 
enjoy  this  cold-water  wedding 'at  all.  My  feelings  are 
already  almost  down  to  zero,  and  with  no  wine  to  bring 
them  up,  I  fear  my  company  will  be  anything  but  interest 
ing  and  agreeable." 

"  We  shall  all  enjoy  ourselves,  very  much,  I  have  not 
the  least  doubt;  and  you,  among  the  rest,"  was  the  reply. 
"  As  happy  a  face  to  look  upon  as  Adeline  Whiteman's  is 
now,  and  as  gay  a  partner  as  her  sister  when  in  fine 
spirits,  will  do  more  to  put  life  into  my  young  friend,  Mr. 
Mudie,  than  a  whole  bottle  of  wine.  Am  I  not  right  ?' 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  I  have  never  tried  the  ex 
periment." 

"  You  will  have  a  chance  to  try  this  evening,  or  Pm  mis 
taken,  for  the  spirits  of  the  sisters  I  have  just  alluded  to, 
are  certainly  rising  fast.  The  reason  of  this  happy  change, 

have  now  not  the  least  doubt  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  they  have  learned  that  no  wine  is  to  be  served  to- 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  303 

night.  You  cannot  tell,  Mr.  Mudie,  how  pleased  I  feel 
about  this,  now  that  its  necessary  happy  results  become 
apparent  to  my  mind." 

"  I  must  say,  that,  like  you,  I  feel  pleasure  at  the  thought 
that  two  such  amiable  beings  are  made  happy.  Most 
willingly  will  I  give  up  the  wine  for  their  sakes.  But 
what  could  have  induced  our  friend  Somers  to  take  such 
a  position,  involving  himself,  as  he  most  certainly  will,  in 
ridicule'?" 

"  Principle,  I  suppose.  He  has  no  doubt  been  made  to 
feel  sensibly  the  evil  of  introducing  intoxicating  drinks  in 
companies  where  there  may  be  some  who  will  be  tempted 
to  use  it  immoderately." 

"  He  is  certainly  a  bold  man  to  take  such  a  stand." 

"  He  is,  I  believe,  an  independent  man — that  is,  a  man, 
who,  when  he  is  once  convinced  that  a  certain  course  of 
action  is  right,  will  pursue  it  steadily  and  fearlessly.  I 
wish  there  were  more  such." 

"Will  Miss  Whiteman  favour  us  with  a  song?"  said 
Mr.  Lewis,  the  bride's  father,  about  half  an  hour  after,  to 
Eleanor. 

"  With  pleasure,"  that  young  lady  replied,  with  one  of 
her  happiest  smiles,  for  her  heart  felt  as  light  as  a  feather 
There  had  been  no  wine  yet. 

Handed  up  to  the  piano  by  Mr.  Lewis,  she  took  her 
seat  there,  and  after  turning  over  a  few  music  leaves, 
selected  a  piece  that  her  eye  lit  upon  unexpectedly.  Then 
running  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  instrument,  for  a 
few  moments,  she  commenced  in  a  clear,  musical  voice, 
and  with  much  expression,  the  song — 

"  Water  for  me,  bright  water  for  me, 
And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee." 

Its  effect  upon  the  company  was  almost  electrical,  ex 
hilarating  their  feelings,  and  putting  each  one  in  the  best 
possible  humour  with  himself,  and  all  around  him.  Its 
repetition  was  called  for,  when  it  was  sung  with  renewed 
spirit. 

"  You  seem  quite  happy  to-night,  Eleanor,"  remarked 
a  lady  who  sat  by  her  side,  some  ten  minutes  after,  while 
each  held  in  her  hand  a  saucer  of  strawberries  and 
cream. 


304  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

"  And  I  do  feel  happy,"  was  the  reply.  "  This  is  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  parties  I  have  attended  for  a  long 
time.  Every  one  is  so  full  of  life  and  true  enjoy 
ment." 

"  So  it  appears  to  me.  And  I  have  already  been  won 
dering  to  myself  about  the  reason.  We  have  all  met  in 
company,  frequently,  but  never  before,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
such  excellent  spirits.  I  really  believe,  Eleanor,  that  it  is, 
because  you  and  Adeline  are  so  full  of  life  and  enjoy 
ment." 

"  O,  no.     That  is  a  mere  idea  of  your  own." 

"  It  may  be.     But  so  I  have  thought." 

"  Will  you  dance,  Miss  Whiteman  ?"  young  Mudie  said, 
coming  up  at  that  moment,  and  offering  his  arm. 

"  With  pleasure,"  was  Eleanor's  response,  and  the  two 
passed  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  to  take  their  places  in 
a  cotillion.  Mr.  Lee,  the  friend  of  Mudie,  came  up  with 
Adeline  at  the  same  moment,  making  the  set  complete. 
The  two  girls  were  in  fine  spirits,  and  danced  with  ex 
quisite  grace.  Their  partners  were  never  before  so  struck 
with  their  loveliness. 

Thus  the  festivities  of  the  evening  progressed,  and  con 
tinued  with  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  spirits.  It  was  a 
feast  of  reason,  and  a  flow  of  soul ;  rather  than  a  flow  of 
wine  without  reason. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed  myself  better,"  was 
the  remark  of  almost  every  one,  the  brother  of  Adeline 
and  Eleanor  among  the  rest. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Mudie,  how  do  you  feel  now  ?"  asked  the 
lady  with  whom  he  had  been  conversing  during  the  early 
part  of  the  evening. 

"  Very  pleasant,  indeed,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  didn't  need  wine  to  keep  up,  I  believe." 

"No,  indeed,  I  have  scarcely  thought  of  wine  since." 

"  And  yet,  I  have  rarely  seen  you  in  better  spirits." 

"  It  was  because  I  had  such  a  pleasant  companion 
during  a  greater  part  of  the  time." 

"  Eleanor  Whiteman  ?" 

«•  Yes." 

"  You  know  the  reason  —  at  least,  the  presumed  one — 
why,  she  has  been  in  such  good  spirits'?" 

"  O,yes.  And  I  am  so  glad  there  has  been  no  wine;  and  I 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  305 

hope  I  may  never  see  another  drop  at  a  party,  as  long  as 
I  live." 

"  Really,  you  have  become  quite  a  convert  to  the  cold- 
water  system  !" 

"  How  could  I  help  it,  when  it  has  worked  to-night  so 
admirably?  Did  you  observe  Mr.  Morven,  how  much  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  himself?" 

"  I  did.  And  his  wife  too.  How  cruel  it  would  have 
been,  had  they  placed,  as  some  of  our  temperance  folks 
say,  a  devil  to  his  lips,  to  steal  away  his  brains?" 

"**  It  certainly  would.  For  months  he  has  been  trying 
to  reform  himself,  and  has  not,  in  that  time,  tasted  a  drop 
of  wine  or  spirits.  It  would  be  extremely  dangerous  for 
him  to  do  so.  He  has,  on  this  account,  declined,  of  late, 
attending  parties;  for  he  dislikes  to  refuse  wine,  because 
it  attracts  attention  to  him,  and  reminds  the  company  of 
his  weakness.  Being  related  to  Henry  Somers,  he  could 
not  stay  away  to-night.  How  distressed  his  poor  wife 
must  have  felt,  in  anticipation  of  the  danger  that  would 
be  run !" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Indeed,  I  could  not  help 
noticing  that  she  had  an  unquiet  look  during  the  first  part  of 
the  evening,  all  of  which  soon  passed  away,  and  she  enjoy 
ed  herself  very  much.  What  you  have  just  said,  gives 
me  a  clue  to  explain  something  that  you  could  not  under 
stand." 

"  What  was  that  ?" 

"  The  reason  why  Mr.  Somers  would  not  consent  to 
have  any  wine  at  his  wedding." 

"  True  —  true.  I  see  what  you  are  going  to  say.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  on  his  relative's  account." 

"  No  doubt.  And  I  only  wish  every  one  else  was  as 
considerate  of  others.  If  they  were,  there  would  be  very 
little  wine  served  round  to  promiscuous  companies,  I  am 
very  certain ;  for  there  are  but  few  assemblages  now, 
where  there  may  not  be  some  one  to  whom  it  would  be  a 
temptation  —  some  reformed  inebriate,  who  might  fall 
away,  and  never  after  be  reclaimed." 

"  That  consideration  is  certainly  a  very  serious  and  im 
portant  one,  and,  it  now  seems  to  me,  should  never  be  lost 
sight  of,"  was  Mr.  Mudie's  reply. 

26* 


306  COLD-WATER      WEDDING. 

"  You  seemed  very  much  pleased,  last  evening,"  Ade 
line  Whiteman  said  to  her  brother,  as  they  sat  alone  upon 
the  sofa,  on  the  next  morning. 

"I  certainly  was,  sister — more  than  I  have  been  for 
long  time.     And  you,  too,  were  brighter  and  happier  than 
usual.     I  heard  several  remark  that  both  you  and  Eleanor 
were  the  very  life  of  the  company.     How  is  this?    You 
have  been  particularly  dull  in  society,  of  late  ?" 

"Have  1?"  Adeline  replied,  her  manner  becoming  at 
once  embarrassed. 

"  You  certainly  have.  But  why  do  you  colour  and 
look  confused,  sister?" 

"  You  say  that  you  enjoyed  yourself  very  much,  last 
night,  Edward  ?"  his  sister  resumed,  after  a  few  moments 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looking  him  earnestly 
in  the  face. 

"  I  certainly  did,  Adeline." 

"  And  yet  there  was  no  wine  there,  brother,"  she  add 
ed,  still  gazing  into  his  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Adeline !"  was  his  instant  re 
sponse,  somewhat  sternly  made. 

"  I  only  said  that  there  was  no  wine  there — no  artificial 
excitement." 

"  But  why  did  you  say  it  to  me  ?"  in  a  severe  tone. 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  Edward,  with  a  sister  who  loves  you 
tenderly,  and  whose  very  love  makes  her  perception  of 
danger  tenfold  more  acute." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,  Adeline !  Come  at  once,  and 
distinctly  to  the  point.  Of  what  danger  do  you  speak  ?" 

"  Of  the  danger  that  lies  in  the  wine  cup,  Edward. 
You  may  be  unconscious  of  it,  but  I  have  too  frequently 
seen  you  under  its  influence  in  company,  not  to  fear  and 
tremble  for  you." 

Half  conscious  of  his  own  weakness,  yet  fully  assured 
that  no  one  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  in  danger,  Edward 
Whiteman  was  taken  by  surprise  at  this.  Both  irritated 
and  mortified,  he  did  not  know  what  reply  to  make.  He 
felt  angry  with  Adeline,  because  she  had  perceived,  what 
he  supposed  no  one  suspected;  and  was  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  conscious  that  he  had  no  right  to  be  angry  with  his 
sister,  but  with  himself.  He,  therefore,  would  not  trust 
himself  to  speak,  but  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  agitated 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  307 

irresolution,  and  then  suddenly  rose  up  and  left  the  room, 
and  the  house. 

Poor  Adeline  was,  of  course,  exceedingly  distressed  at 
this.  The  effect  upon  her  brother's  mind,  of  what  she  had 
said,  she  could  not,  of  course,  truly  imagine.  But  her 
busy  fears  suggested  the  worst  and  most  painful  result. 
He  was,  evidently,  angry  at  what  she  had  said,  and  a 
brother's  anger  she  felt  it  to  be  hard  to  bear, — still  harder 
to  bear,  was  the  thought  that  she  had,  by  her  imprudence, 
driven  him,  in  all  probability,  to  speedy  ruin. 

"  What  troubles  you  now,  Adeline  ?"  her  mother  asked, 
coming  into  the  room  where  she  still  sat,  and  finding  her 
in  tears. 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  Edward,  ma ;  and  he  has  got 
angry  and  left  the  house,"  was  her  reply. 

"  What  were  you  talking  to  him  about?" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  all  blame  me,  but  I  did  it  for  the 
best.  You  know  that  I  have  several  times  mentioned  to 
you,  that  at  parties  he  often  drinks  too  much  wine,  so  as 
to  make  himself  the  subject  of  remark,  and  that  we  have 
all  felt  troubled  about  him  on  this  account." 

"Well?" 

"  I  hinted,  (Distantly,  at  this,  just  now,  when  he  insisted 
on  my  speaking  out  plainly;  —  I  did  so,  gently  warning 
him,  that  he  was  in  danger." 

"  And  he  got  angry  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  left  the  house  without  making  any  reply, 
from  which  I  could  gather  his  true  feelings." 

"This  is  what  troubles  you?" 

"  O,  yes,  ma,  I  feel  deeply  distressed  about  it.  I  had 
only  his  good  in  view;  but  I  tremble  lest  my  well-meant 
effort  will  be  productive  of  harm.  What,  if  he  should 
suddenly  throw  himself  away !"  and  a  new  gush  of  tears 
attested  the  agitation  of  her  feelings. 

"  Do  not  give  yourself  unnecessary  pain,  Adeline,"  hei 
mother  said,  in  an  encouraging  tone.  "  No  harm,  be 
assured,  will  grow  out  of  what  you  have  said.  All  of  us, 
instead  of  blaming,  must  feel  greatly  obliged  to  you  for 
relieving  us  of  a  very  unpleasant  duty,  that  should  have 
been  performed  months  ago." 

"  Are  you  then,  satisfied,  that  no  harm  to  Edward,  will 


308  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

grow  out  of  what  I  have  said?"  Adeline  asked,  in  a 
calmer  tone. 

"  I  apprehend  no  danger  at  all,"  was  the  mother's  reply. 
•*  I  think  that  I  understand  Edward's  character  well 
enough  to  be  assured  that  he  will  not  only  thank  you  for 
warning  him  of  danger,  but  will  flee  from  it  in  future 
His  feelings  are  easily  roused,  but  when  they  subside,  h 
reasons  calmly,  and  is  fixed  in  his  resolutions." 

"  How  greatly  you  have  relieved  my  heart,"  the  daugh 
ter  said.     "  Still,  I  shall  be  very  unhappy,  until  he  returns, 
and  we  are  reconciled." 

It  was  about  three  hours  after,  that  a  gentle  rap  at  Ade 
line's  chamber-door,  roused  her  from  a  deep  and  troubled 
reverie.  As  she  opened  it,  a  low,  and  somewhat  sad 
voice,  asked, 

"  Are  you  alone,  sister?" 

"  Yes,  Edward,  come  in,"  she  replied,  quickly,  and  her 
brother  entered,  and  closed  the  door  quietly,  after  him. 
Kissing  the  cheek  of  his  sister,  that  was  paler  than  usual, 
he  said,  as  he  drew  his  arm  affectionately  around  her 
waist — 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  for  a  little  while,  Adeline." 

"  I  will  hear  you  with  pleasure,  Edward.  But  first,  do 
you  forgive  me  for  what  I  said  this  morning?" 

"  Forgive  you,  Adeline !  O,  yes,  and  thank  you  a  thou 
sand  times!  It  is  upon  that  subject  that  I  wish  to  con 
verse  with  you." 

A  momentary  silence  passed,  and  then  the  young  man 
resumed — 

"  For  some  months  past,  I  have  noticed,  and  so  have 
others,  that  neither  you  nor  Eleanor  were  so  cheerful  iq 
company  as  formerly.  May  I  ask  the  reason  ?" 

"  As  you  expect,  and  I  can  only  give  a  true  reason, 
Edward,  I  must  answer,  that  it  was  because  we  were 
troubled  on  your  account." 

"  Why,  then,  were  you  in  so  much  better  spirits  last 
night?" 

"  Because  you  drank  no  wine,  there." 

"  Then,  was  it  simply  my  drinking  of  wine  that  trou 
bled  you  ?" 

"  O,  no,  Edward,  not  that.  It  was  the  effect  produced 
on  you  by  the  wine.4' 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  309 

"What  was  that  effect?  speak  frankly." 

"  The  effect  has  been,  at  nearly  every  party,  for  the 
last  six  months,  except  the  one  last  night,  that  you  have 
become  elated  and  foolish,  if  I  must  so  speak,  to  such  a 
degree,  that  you  were  noticed  by  the  company.  How, 
then,  could  we  be  cheerful  when  such  was  your  condi 
tion — or  even  while  looking  forward  to  it,  at  the  beginning 
of  a  social  evening,  with  dread." 

For  some  time  after  Adeline  ceased  speaking,  her  bro 
ther  sat  in  thoughtful  silence, — then  he  said — 

"  Since  your  unexpected  remark  this  morning,  which 
half-offended,  while  it  pained  me  exceedingly,  I  have  been 
endeavouring  to  recall  the  past  with  as  much  vividness  as 
possible.  \  had  already  become  conscious  of  a  growing 
fondness  foi  wine,  but  could  not  believe  that  this  had  been 
perceived  by  others,  much  less  by  yourself,  or  any  of  the 
family.  And  yet,  although  J  had  noticed  a  change  in  you 
and  Eleanor  for  some  time  back  when  in  company,  I 
never  could  bring  myself  to  inquire  the  reason,  for  fear 
that  it  had  something  to  do  with  this  very  weakness. 
What  you  said  this  morning,  satisfied  me  that  my  vague 
and  scarcely  acknowledged  suspicions  were  but  too  true. 
An  hour's  serious  thought  convinced  me  that  I  had  but 
one  safe  course  to  pursue.  The  reluctance  with  which  1 
gained  my  own  consent  to  adopt  that  course,  convinced 
me  of  my  danger,  and  confirmed  my  resolution  to  adopt 
it.  I  have  determined,  hereafter,  to  abstain  totally,  on  all 
occasions,  from  the  use  of  wine,  or  strong  drinks.  This 
I  am  convinced  is  the  only  safe  way  for  me." 

"0,  brother!  What  a  load  you  have  removed  from  my 
heart !"  Adeline  said,  leaning  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
while  tears  of  joy  fell  slowly  over  her  cheeks.  "  How 
happy  I  shall  be  !  And  how  happy  we  all  shall  be !" 

'•  And  1,  too,  shall  be  far  happier,  and  prepared  to  join 
in  purer  social  delights,  than  heretofore.  I  laughed, 
heartily,  at  the  idea  of  Henry  Somers's  cold-water  wed 
ding.  But  I  shall  never  cease  to  remember  it  with  plea 
sure,  I  tried  hard,  when  I  learned,  beforehand,  his  inten 
tion,  to  ridicule  him  out  of  the  idea;  but  the  more  I  said, 
the  more  resolute  he  seemed  to  grow." 

"  What  reason  did  he  give  you?"  Adeline  asked. 

"None  at  all;  although  he  said  his  reasons  were  so 


310  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

good  that  no  argument,  persuasion,  or  form  ol  ridicule, 
could  change  him." 

"  Is  it  not  a  little  strange,  that  Mr.  Lewis  acceded  to 
his  wishes?" 

"  It  is.  But,  then,  Henry  told  him  that  if  he  were  not 
willing  to  do  so,  he  must  insist  upon  having  no  wed 
ding  party  at  all.  Of  the  two  dilemmas,  Mr.  Lewis 
chose  the  former." 

"  What  do  you  think  was  his  reason,  Edward  ?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  was  on  Mr.  Morven's  account, 
and,  perhaps,  on  my  own,  also,  as  you  say  I  have  been 
too  much  excited  of  late  in  company.  Of  course,  he 
would  not  say  so  to  me,  but  some  such  reason  must  have 
influenced  him,  I  am  sure,  for  ne  is  ever  regardful  of 
others  in  all  he  does." 

"  We  shall  have  to  give  a  party  to  the  bride,"  the  sister 
remarked,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"  Of  course,"  Edward  responded. 

"  A  cold-water  party  ?" 

"  I  dislike,  above  all  things,  to  be  singular,  Adeline. 
Still,  I  should  be  in  favour  of  excluding  everything  stronger 
than  lemonade.  We  have  had  a  good  example  set  us,  and 
have  partaken  largely  of  its  benefits,  —  shall  we  not  fol 
low,  and  thus  dispense  good  to  others  ?" 

"  I  have  but  one  opinion,  and  one  feeling  in  the  matter, 
Edward,  and  they  are  altogether  in  favour  of  excluding 
wine  and  brandy." 

"  How  will  father  and  mother  feel  about  it  ?" 

"  They  will  warmly  coincide  with  us,  I  know." 

"  Then  let  it  be  a  cold-water  party." 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"How  much  this  party  reminds  me  of  the  wedding 
party,"  remarked  Mr.  Mudie,  to  Mrs. ,  on  the  even 
ing  when  company  assembled  at  Mr.  Whiteman's,  in 
honour  of  the  new-married  couple. 

"In  what  respect?"  asked  Mrs. . 

"  O,  in  the  life  and  enjoyment  that  pervade  the  whole 
company.  There  is  a  sphere  of  rational  and  confidential 
social  intercourse  prevailing  here  to  an  extent  not  always 
experienced." 

"  I  have  felt  the  same  at  other  parties." 

"  So  have  I.     But  it  is  rarely  that  we  find  all  in  so 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  3H 

iarge  an  assemblage  as  this,  ready  to  enter  into  the  gen 
eral  joy.  Upon  some  heart  will  rest  a  burden,  and  upon 
some  countenance  a  shadow  of  gloom." 

"  These,  however,  will  be  dissipated  to  a  great  extent 
by  the  light  and  joy  that  is  diffused  around,  it  there  be  not 
some  present  cause  of  pain  or  uneasiness." 

"  No  such  cause  should  be  permitted  to  exist  in  a  socia 
party." 

"  So  think  I.  Now,  it  is  because  all  causes  that  could 
possibly  affect  unpleasantly  any  one  invited  to  this  party, 
have  been  removed  by  those  who  have  given  it,  that  all 
seem  to  be  so  happy." 

•'How  has  this  been  done?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Particularly  in  the  exclusion  of  everything  that  could 
intoxicate.  This,  you  are  aware,  I  suppose,  is  a  cold- 
water  party." 

"  Sure  enough  !  There  has  been  no  wine  served.  Real 
ly,  I  had  not  observed  it !" 

"  Then  I  presume  you  have  not  felt  the  need  of  it  to 
get  up  a  social  feeling  within  your  own  bosom  ?" 

"  O,  no,  indeed  !  Every  one  is  so  full  of  enjoyment  — 
every  one  so  social,  that  I  have  become  at  once  affected 
by  the  general  delight." 

"  Do  you  think  if  wine  had  been  circulated,  that  Eleanor 
Whiteman  whom  I  saw  leaning  upon  your  arm  a  few 
minutes  ago,  the  personification  of  beauty  and  joyousness, 
would  have  been  so  happy  as  she  is?" 

"  O,  no.     I  am  sure  she  would  not." 

"  The  heat,  and  warmth  of  social  life,  transfused  around, 
and  felt  by  all  who  approach  one  like  her,  must  give  a 
thousand  times  purer  and  freer  spirit  of  social  intercourse, 
than  all  the  wine  that  ever  was  or  ever  will  be  served. 
There  is  nothing,  Mr.  Mudie,  like  the  wine  of  a  happy 
spirit,  to  exhilarate  a  company." 

"  I  feel  sensibly  the  force  of  your  remark,"  the  young 
man  replied.  "  1  have  attended  many,  very  many  parties 
in  my  time,  where  wine  has  been  poured  out  like  water, 
and  I  have  taken  wine  freely  at  these  assemblages  with 
the  rest ;  but  never,  I  am  sure,  have  I  enjoyed  myself  so 
much  as  I  have  to-night.  I  have  seen  more  boisterous 
mirth  —  more  excess  of  joyfulness,  but  nothing  of  the 


3 12  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

pure  delight,  freely  and  fully  expressed,  that  I  have  seen 
here." 

"  There  is,  trust  me,  my  young  friend,  a  very  great 
difference  in  purely  rational  pleasure,  called  into  activity 
by  warm  social  affections,  and  that  species  of  insane 
enjoyment  which  depends  upon  artificial  excitement." 

"  I  believe  you  are  perfectly  right,  Mrs. .  Facts 

have  already  proved  to  me  the  truth  of  the  position  you 
took  at  the  wedding.  But,  tell  me  as  a  friend,  and  in 

confidence,  whether But  stay,  can  I  confide  in  you'? 

And  are  you  willing  to  be  my  adviser?" 

"  You  may  confide  in  me  as  a  friend,  Mr.  Mudie  —  and 
as  far  as  I  am  capable  of  advising  you,  I  will  do  so«with 
pleasure." 

"  Thank  you,  with  all  my  heart.  And  now,  to  begin — 
Do  you  know  whether  Eleanor  is  engaged  ?" 

"  I  believe  she  is  not.     But  why  ?" 

"  Would  it  be  hard  for  you  to  guess  1"  Mudie  asked 
with  a  meaning  look. 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I  like  every  one  to  tell  plainly 
and  honestly  his  own  story,  and  then  I  shall  be  sure  not 
to  misunderstand  dark  allusions.  So  speak  out  plainly." 

« I  will." 

"  Then  I  shall  know  what  to  say." 

"  At  Henry  Somers's  wedding,  I  saw  her  in  a  new 
light.  Before,  there  had  been  about  her  a  distance,  a 
seeming  coldness,  and  a  reserve,  that  chilled  me,  and  kept 
me  at  a  distance.  But  on  that  evening,  she  seemed  so 
suddenly  changed  into  a  joyous  creature  —  became  sud 
denly  so  frank,  so  cheerful,  so  full  of  spirit  and  beauty, 
that  my  heart  was  drawn  towards  her  irresistibly.  To 
night,  she  is  even  more  enchanting.  See,  now,  with  what 
exquisite  grace  she  moves  through  that  cotillion !  Did  you 
ever  see  a  sweeter,  or  happier  countenance  ?" 

"  1  fully  appreciate  all  you  say,  Mr.  Mudie.  There  are 
few  sweeter  girls  than  Eleanor  and  her  sister  Adeline." 

"Of  that,  I  am  now  fully  persuaded.     And  you  believ 
that  her  affections  are  not  interested  ?" 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  they  are  not." 

"  Do  you  think  I  might  venture  to  address  her  ?" 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  coming  to  the  point." 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  313 

"  Well.    Now  I  have  come  to  the  point  frankly,  I  hope 
will  give  me  a  frank  answer." 

"  Certainly  I  will.  You  might  venture  to  address  her 
if  you  were  to  do  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that?" 

"  If  you  were  to  join  the  temperance  society,"  Mrs. 

replied,  smiling. 

"  You  are  sporting  with  me,  while  I  am  serious,"  the 
young  man  said,  somewhat  gravely. 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  might,  perhaps,  think,  Mr.  Mudie. 
Certain  I  am,  that  if  Eleanor  Whiteman  were  to  see  you 
drink  wine  at  a  party,  or  any  other  liquor,  that  would 
intoxicate,  all  hope  for  you,  in  that  quarter,  would  be  cut 
off." 

"  That  would  be  arbitrary  and  unreasonable." 

"  Not  so  much  so,  as  at  the  first  impression  you  might 
be  inclined  to  think.  The  dangerous  position  in  which 
she  has  perceived  her  own  brother  to  be  placed,  a  brother 
whom  she  has  loved,  and  in  whom,  no  doubt,  she  has 
reposed  great  confidence,  will  naturally  direct  her  atten 
tion  to  the  same  habit  in  others,  that  has  overcome  him. 
The  consequence  will  be,  a  natural  unwillingness  to  permit 
her  affections  to  go  out  towards  a  young  man  whom  she 
sees  inclined  to  drink.  Though  she  may  respect,  and 
esteem,  nay,  love  him,  she  will  hardly  consent  to  bestow 
her  hand  upon  him,  while  the  example  of  her  own  bro 
ther  is  before  her  eyes.  That  which  in  a  brother  is  so 
distressing,  must  be  ten  times  more  so  in  a  husband." 

"  But,  Mrs. ,  I  do  not  drink  to  excess,  as  ner  bro 
ther  too  frequently  does." 

"  If  I,  Mr.  Mudie,  as  I  told  you  on  a  former  occasion, 
could  note  a  very  apparent  effect  of  wine  upon  you,  even 
while  in  the  company  of  ladies ;  would  not  her  quick  per 
ceptions,  rendered,  as  they  must  be,  painfully  acute,  detect 
it  much  more  readily,  if  she  felt  a  personal  interest  in 
you  ?  Certainly  they  would  !  You  cannot,  then,  blame 
her.  If  she  objected  to  you,  because  you  used  wine  and 
strong  drinks,  habitually,  there  would  be,  in  her  objection, 
as  I  see  it,  nothing  arbitrary  or  unreasonable." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  the  young  man  said,  musingly. 

"But  do  you  think  no  other  serious  objection  would 
exist  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  few  moments'  silence. 
27 


314  COLD-WATER     WEDDlNG. 

"  I  cannot  say  positively,  of  course." 

"  O,  no,  of  course  not.  But  then,  as  far  as  you  are 
able  to  judge,  can  you  encourage  me  to  make  advan 
ces." 

"I  certainly  can.  And  what  is  more,  know  of  no 
young  man  more  likely  to  succeed." 

"  Then  I  must  make  the  trial,  for  I  believe  she  has  made 
quite  a  serious  impression  on  my  heart." 

"  Remember  the  cold-water,  though,"  Mrs. said, 

with  an  arch  smile. 

"  O,  yes.     I  '11  remember,"  was  t'he  reply. 

"  You  look  serious,  Mr.  Mudie,"  Adeline  remarked,  as, 
leaning  upon  the  arm  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Lee,  she  paused 
before  the  young  man. 

"Do  I,  indeed!  Well,  that  ought  not  to  be,  when 
you  and  your  sister,  and  all  your  company,  are  so 
happy." 

"  A  very  wise  remark,"  was  the  laughing  reply.  "  But 
where  is  Eleanor  ?  I  must  send  her  to  bring  back  your 
fugitive  spirits.  She  has  life  enough  in  her  this  evening 
for  two  or  three.  O,  here  she  is !" — as  Eleanor  came  up 
at  the  moment — "  Come,  sis'! — Here  is  Mr.  Mudie,  looking 
quite  sombre.  That  will  never  do.  Can't  you  impart  to 
him  a  portion  of  your  own  joyous  feelings  1" 

As  Eleanor  approached,  while  her  sister  was  speaking, 
her  cheeks  glowing,  and  her  eyes  dancing  in  light,  she 
appeared  to  young  Mudie  the  loveliest  being  he  had  ever 
looked  upon.  The  deepening  blush  that  overspread  her 
face  at  Adeline's  playful  remark,  was  observed,  and  made 
his  bosom  thrill  with  deeper  emotion  than  had  yet  trem 
bled  over  the  chords  of  affection. 

A  momentary  and  slight  embarrassment  was  experien 
ced  by  both  Mudie  and  Eleanor ;  but  it  quickly  subsided, 
ana  he  offered  her  his  arm  with  a  playful  word  in  reply 
to  what  Adeline  had  said.  They  were  soon  lost  to  obser 
vation  in  the  crowd. 

"  Henry  Somers's  will  not  be  the  last  cold-water  wed 
ding,  I  am  inclined  to  think,"  Mrs. remarked,  w7ith 

a  smile,  to  a  lady  near  her,  as  the  young  couple  mingled 
with  their  gay  companions  in  the  promenade. 

She  was  right.  About  six  months  after,  the  large 
parlours  of  Mr.  Whiteman  were  crowded  with  a  bril- 


COLD-WATER     WEDDING.  315 

liant  company,  the  central  point  of  attraction  in  which 
were  three  lovely  brides.  Adeline  and  Eleanor,  looking 
happier  and  more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  also  cousin  Mary, 
mentioned  far  back,  as  having  had  all  her  pleasure  spoiled 
at  Mrs.  Wheeler's  party,  by  the  conduct  of  Edward. 
Adeline  had  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Lee,  Eleanor  of  Mr. 
Mudie,  and  cousin  Mary  had  yielded  up  her  heart  with 
joy  to  Edward  Whiteman.  It  was,  too,  another  cold- 
water  wedding  ;  and  there  was  not  one  present  who  would 
have  tasted  wine  had  it  been  offered. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Mr.  Mudie  met  Henry  Somers. 

"  I  must  again  offer  you  my  congratulations,  Mudie," 
the  latter  said,  smiling  and  grasping  his  hand. 

"  And  I  must  take  this  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  the 
sweet  wife  I  have  obtained." 

"  Thank  me !"  Somers  said,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  you.  You  remember  your  cold-water  wed 
ding?" 

"  O,  yes,"  the  other  replied,  laughing. 

"Well,  it  was  because  you  had  resolution  enough  to 
act  right  on  that  occasion,  that  I  must  thank  you  for  my 
wife." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  I  had  met  her  frequently  before,  but  was  not  attract 
ed.  She  seemed  cold  and  spiritless.  But  on  that  even 
ing,  she  was  remarkably  changed.  It  seemed  as  if  a  ray 
of  spiritual  sunshine  had  suddenly  gleamed  upon  her  mind. 
I  was  at  once  interested,  and  that  interest  soon  grew  into 
affection.  The  cause  of  so  remarkable  a  change  was 
this.  Edward  had  begun  to  give  way  under  the  encroach 
ments  of  a  love  of  drink,  and  at  every  social  party  that 
he  attended  with  them,  indulged  too  freely.  The  conse 
quence  was,  that  they  perceived  it;  and,  therefore,  their 
spirits  were  always  depressed  on  such  occasions.  But  at 
your  wedding,  there  was  no  wine,  and  their  spirits  instant 
ly  rose  under  the  influence  of  the  happy  sphere  around 
them.  I  then  saw  Eleanor  as  she  really  was,  and  loved 
her.  And  this  is  not  all.  Adeline  attracted  our  friend 
Lee's  attention  on  that  same  night.  Nor  is  this  all  — 
Edward  Whiteman  was  led  by  some  remarks  of  his  sister 
in  reference  to  the  wedding,  to  see  his  true  condition,  and 


316  COLD-WATER     WEDDING. 

utterly  to  renounce  all  intoxicating  drinks  as  a  beverage. 
He  then  had  power  to  win  the  heart  of  dear  little  cousin 
Mary — or  rather,  was  now  able  to  obtain  the  heart  already 
his  own.  It  will  be  long,  very  long,  Harry,  before  any 
of  us  forget  your  cold-water  wedding." 


Two  Scenes  iu  the  Life  of  a  City  Belle. 


TWO    SCENES  IN   THE  LIFE  OF 
A  CITY  BELLE. 


SCENE  FIRST. 

"ISN'T  she  a  glorious  creature  ?"  said  my  young  friend 
Merwyn,  glancing,  as  he  spoke,  toward  a  beautiful  girl 
named  Florine  Malcolm,  the  daughter  of  a  merchant  re 
puted  to  be  rich.  We  were  at  a  party,  and  the  object  of 
remark  sat,  or  rather  reclined  near  us  on  a  sofa,  with  a 
graceful  abandon,  or  rather  indolence,  in  her  whole  air 
and  attitude,  that  indicated  one  born  and  raised  in  idleness 
and  luxury. 

"  She  is  a  fine  looking  girl,  certainly,"  I  replied. 

"  Fine  looking  !"  said  my  enthusiastic  young  friend,  in 
surprise,  half  inclined  to  be  offended  at  the  coldness  with 
which  I  expressed  myself.  "  Fine  looking,  indeed !  She's 
a  perfect  Hebe;  a  very  impersonation  of  youth  and 
beauty." 

"  No  one  can  deny  that  she  is  a  very  lovely  and  beauti 
ful  girl,"  said  I,  to  this.  "  But  she  lacks  animation." 

"  What  you  speak  of  as  a  fault,  I  consider  her  greatest 
charm.  I  never  met  any  one  so  free  from  all  vulgar  hurry 
and  excitement.  An  exquisite  ease  distinguishes  her 
actions,  and  she  reminds  you,  in  nearly  every  thing,  of 
those  courtly  ladies  who  give  such  a  charm  to  foreign 
aristocratic  society.  Certainly,  I  have  not  met,  in  this 
country,  with  any  one  who  has  so  perfectly  the  air  of  a 
high-bred  lady  as  Florine  Malcolm." 

To  understand  this,  perfectly,  the  reader  must  be  told 
that  Merwyn  had  recently  returned  from  a  tour  through 
Europe,  whither  he  had  been  permitted  to  go  by  a  wealthy 


320  TWO    SCENES    IN    THE    LIFE 

father,  and  where  he  had  discovered,  like  most  of  our 
young  men  who  venture  abroad,  that  in  our  forms  of  so 
cial  intercourse,  and  in  all  that  gives  fashionable  society 
its  true  excellence  and  attractiveness,  we  are  sadly  defi 
cient.  Foreign  manners,  habits,  and  dress  were  brought 
home  and  retained  by  the  young  man ;  who,  as  a  natural 
consequence,  became  a  favourite  among  our  ladies,  and 
was  thus  encouraged  in  his  silly  imitations  of  things  anti- 
American,  and  therefore  in  America  ridiculous.  In  the 
eye  of  sober-minded,  sensible  people,  who  did  not  know 
him  well  enough  to  see  that  there  was  a  more  substantial 
groundwork  in  his  character  than  all  this  would  lead  a 
casual  observer  to  infer,  Merwyn  was  viewed  as  a  mere 
fop,  whose  brains  had  grown  out  upon  his  upper  lip  in  the 
shape  of  a  moustache. 

Such  a  man  was  my  friend,  Henry  Merwyn.  I  knew 
his  better  qualities,  and  esteemed  them ;  at  the  same  time 
that  I  saw  his  weaknesses,  and  bore  with  them  for  the  sake 
of  the  good  that  was  in  him.  He  had  been  raised  in  a 
sickly  atmosphere,  and  his  mind  had  taken  an  unhealthy 
tone ;  but  he  was  honourable,  and  rigidly  just  in  all  his 
actions  toward  others. 

As  for  the  young  lady  he  so  warmly  admired — Miss 
Florine  Malcolm — I  only  knew  her  as  we  know  those  into 
whose  society  we  are  but  occasionally  thrown.  She  was  a 
fine,  showy  girl,  with  a  face  of  more  than  ordinary  beau 
ty  ;  but,  to  one  of  my  taste,  uninteresting  for  the  very 
reason  that  she  proved  so  charming  to  Merwyn.  This 
genteel  languor,  this  elegant  indolence,  this  distinguishing 
repose,  never  much  suited  my  fancy:  I  like  to  see  the 
soul  flow  into  the  bodily  organism,  and  thrill  its  every 
nerve  with  life  and  sentiment.  I  like  to  see  the  eye  burn, 
the  lips  quiver,  and  the  whole  face  glow  with  animating 
thought.  These  make  beauty  tenfold  more  beautiful ; 
and  give  to  even  plainness  a  charm. 

"  By  a  high-bred  lady,"  I  replied  toMerwyn's  particu 
lar  praise  of  Miss  Malcolm,  "you  mean,  I  presume,  a 
woman  who  is  entirely  artificial." 

"No,"  he  quickly  answered,  "you  put  a  construction 
on  my  words  that  I  do  not  acknowledge  to  be  fair.  By  a 
high-bred  lady,  I  mean  one  who  possesses  that  peculiar  ease 


OF    A    CITY     BELLE.  321 

and  grace,  that  exquisite  repose,  and  that  charming  ele 
gance  of  manner  that  comes  from  a  refined  taste  and 
long  association  with  those  who  move  in  the  highest  rank 
in  society.  In  fact,  it  is  hard  to  fix  in  words  all  that 
goes  to  make  up  a  well-bred  lady ;  but,  when  you  meet 
her,  you  know  her  at  a  glance." 

"  And  you  say  Miss  Malcolm  comes  nearer  to  the  high 
bred,  courtly  lady,  than  any  woman  it  has  been  your  for 
tune  to  meet  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  ?" 

"  She  does.  In  Paris  or  London  she  would  find  herself 
at  home  in  the  first  circles  of  fashion.  Now  just  look  at 
Miss  Watson,  who  sits  near  her,  bolt  upright,  and  stiff  as 
a  post ;  and  then  observe  how  gracefully  Florine  reclines 
on  those  cushions  like  a  very  queen.  There  you  have  the 
exact  difference  between  a  mere  vulgar  girl  and  a  true 
lady." 

There  was  a  difference  between  the  two  individuals  thus 
referred  to — a  very  marked  difference.  Miss  Watson  looked 
like  a  girl  of  thought  and  action,  while  the  other  reposed 
languidly  among  the  cushions  of  a  sofa,  the  very  picture 
of  indolence. 

"I  see  nothing  vulgar  about  Miss  Watson,"  said  I. 
"  And  I  know  that  there  is  nothing  vulgar  about  her.  She 
is  a  true  lady  in  every  sense  of  the  word." 

Merwyn  half  vexed  me  by  his  dissenting  silence. 

Just'  then  he  observed  that  Miss  Malcolm  looked  pale. 
Going  over  quickly  to  where  she  was,  he  inquired  if  she 
were  not  well,  and  learned  that  some  particular  perfume 
used  by  a  lady  who  sat  near,  was  so  unpleasant  as  to  make 
her  faint.  He  immediately  proposed  that  she  should  go 
into  another  room  where  were  fewer  persons,  and  get  a 
place  near  one  of  the  windows,  offering  his  arm  at  the 
same  time.  She  arose,  and  I  saw  her  pass  out  slowly. 
She  was  in  good  health,  in  fact,  in  the  very  prime  and 
vigour  of  young  life ;  yet,  surrounded  as  she  was  by  every 
luxury  and  elegance,  she  had  grown  inactive,  and  felt 
even  a  small  effort  as  burdensome.  Trifling  causes  affect 
ed  her ;  and  she  imagined  a  physical  inability  to  do  a  thou 
sand  things  that  might  have  been  done  with  scarce  an 
effort. 

The  very  sympathy  and  concern  manifested  by  Merwyn, 


322  TWO    SCENES    IN    THE    LIFE 

who  was  the  lover  of  Florine,  made  her  feel  that  she  wag 
really  indisposed ;  and  she  languidly  reclined  on  the  sofa 
to  which  he  had  conducted  her,  with  the  air  of  an  invalid. 
Finding  that  she  did  not  grow  any  better,  Merwyn,  in  a 
little  while,  proposed  that  she  should  go  home,  and  had  a 
carriage  ordered.  Wandering  into  the  apartment  to  which 
they  had  gone,  I  saw  him  bring  her  shawl,  without  which 
she  could  not  pass  into  the  dressing-room  for  fear  of  cold, 
and  saw  her  meet  the  attention  with  a  half  averted  face, 
and  a  want  of  effort,  that  made  me  feel  as  if  I  would  like 
to  have  aroused  her  by  means  of  the  wires  from  an  elec 
trical  battery. 

"  A  beautiful  couple  they  will  make,"  said  I  to  myself, 
as  Florine  arose  and  went  out,  leaning  heavily  on  the  arm 
of  the  young  man,  "  to  pass  through  the  storms  and  over 
the  rough  places  of  this  troublesome  world.  A  summer 
breeze  will  be  too  rough  for  that  young  creature,  and  the 
odour  of  violets  too  stimulating  for  her  nerves." 

A  few  months  subsequent  to  this  they  were  married,  and 
not  long  afterward  I  removed  from  the  city,  and  did  not 
see  them  again  for  some  years.  But,  I  learned,  in  the 
mean  time,  with  sincere  regret,  that  in  a  great  "  commercial 
crisis"  through  which  the  country  passed,  both  of  the 
families  of  this  young  couple  had  been  reduced  from  afflu 
ence  to  comparative  poverty.  A  sigh  for  the  human  sum 
mer  flowers  I  have  mentioned,  was  my  simple  response  to 
the  news.  A  couple  of  years  afterward  I  met  them  again. 

SCENE  SECOND. 

During  a  journey  through  the  western  part  of  Ohio,  I 
had  occasion  to  stop  for  a  few  days  in  the  little  town  of 

R .     On  the  day  after  my  arrival,  a  man  whose  face 

struck  me  as  being  familiar,  passed  the  door  of  the  tavern 
in  which  I  was  standing.  A  sort  of  doubtful  recognition 
took  place  on  both  sides,  but  neither  of  us  being  certain 
as  to  the  other's  identity,  we  did  not  speak,  and  the  man 
passed  on.  I  looked  after  him  as  he  moved  down  the 
street,  wondering  in  my  mind  who  he  could  be,  when  I 
saw  him  stop,  and  after  appearing  to  hesitate  about  some 
thing,  turn  around  and  walk  back  toward  the  hotel.  He 


OP    A    CITY   BELLE.  323 

was  a  young  man,  plainly  dressed,  and  looked  as  if  he 
were  clerk  in  a  store,  or,  it  might  be,  a  small  store-keeper 
himself.  As  he  came  back,  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  his  face, 
trying  to  make  out  who  it  was  that  bore  such  familiar 
features. 

"My  old  friend  Merwyn  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  he  paused 
in  front  of  where  I  stood. 

He  called  my  name  in  return,  and  then  we  grasped  each 
other's  hands  eagerly. 

"  The  last  man  in  the  world  I  expected  to  meet,"  said  I. 

"  And,  certainly,  I  as  little  expected  to  meet  you,"  was 
returned.  "  This  is  indeed  a  pleasure  !  When  did  you 
arrive,  and  how  long  do  you  stay  in  R ?" 

"  I  came  here  yesterday,  and  hope  to  resume  my  jour 
ney  to-morrow." 

"Not  so  soon  !"  Merwyn  said,  still  tightly  holding  my 
hand.  "  You  must  stay  longer." 

"I  am  doubtful  as  to  that,"  I  returned.  "But  is  this 
your  place  of  sojourn  in  the  world?" 

"  Yes,  for  the  present,  seeing  that  I  can't  find  a  better." 

There  was  a  manly  cheerfulness  in  the  way  this  was 
said,  which  I  could  not  have  believed  it  possible  for  the 
young  man  to  feel,  under  the  great  change  of  circum 
stances  that  had  taken  place. 

"  And  your  lady  ?"  I  felt  some  hesitation  even  while  I 
asked  this  question. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you  !"  was  cheerfully  replied.  "  We 
live  a  mile  or  two  from  town,  and  you  must  go  out  and 
spend  a  night  with  us  before  you  leave.  Florine  will  be 
delighted  to  see  you." 

"  It  will  be  quite  as  pleasant  for  me  to  meet  her,"  I  could 
but  answer  ;  yet  even  while  I  spoke  I  felt  that  our  meeting 
must  remind  the  wife  of  my  friend  so  strongly  of  the  past, 
as  to  make  it  any  thing  but  pleasant. 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here  ?" 

"  About  two  years." 

"  It  is  almost  the  last  place  in  which  I  expected  to  meet 
you.  What  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  Merchandizing  in  a  small  way.  I  had  no  profession, 
when  kind  fortune  knocked  us  all  on  the  head,  and  so  had 
to  turn  my  hand  to  the  first  Jhing  that  offered,  which  hap- 


324  TWO     SCENES    IN    THE    LIFE 

pened  to  be  a  clerkship  in  a  store  at  three  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  year.  This  was  barely  enough  to  keep  body 
and  soul  together ;  yet  I  was  thankful  for  so  much,  and 
tried  to  keep  down  a  murmuring  spirit.  At  the  end  of  a 
year,  having  given  every  satisfaction  to  my  employer,  he 
said  to  me  one  day — *  You  have  shown  far  more  business 
capacity  than  I  thought  you  possessed,  and,  I  think,  are 
the  very  man  I  want  to  go  out  West  with  a  stock  of  goods. 
Can  you  command  any  capital  ?'  '  Not  a  dollar,  I  fear,' 
was  my  reply.  '  I'm  sorry  for  that,'  said  he,  '  for  I 
want  a  man  who  is  able  to  take  an  interest  in  the  business. 
Don't  you  think  you  could  raise  a  couple  of  thousand 
dollars  in  cash?'  I  shook  my  head  doubtfully.  We  had 
a  good  deal  more  conversation  on  the  subject. 

"  When  I  went  home,  I  mentioned  to  my  wife  what  Mr. 

L ,  my  employer,  had  said,  and  we  talked  much  about 

the  proposition.  I  expressed  a  great  deal  of  regret  at 
not  being  able  to  furnish  capital,  as  the  offer  I  had  re 
ceived  was  plainly  an  advantageous  one,  and  would  give 
me  a  fair  start  in  the  world.  '  Would  you  be  willing  to  go 
off  to  the  West  ?'  I  asked  of  Florine,  while  we  talked  over 
the  subject.  '  Wherever  you  think  it  best  to  go,  I  will  go 
cheerfully,'  was  her  brave  answer.  Thus  far  she  had 
borne  our  change  of  fortune  with  a  kind  of  heroism  that 
more  than  any  thing  else  helped  to  sustain  me.  We  were 
living  with  my  family,  and  had  one  child.  My  father,  of 
whose  misfortunes  you  are  aware,  had  obtained  the  office 
of  president  in  an  insurance  company,  with  a  salary  of 
two  thousand  a  year,  and  this  enabled  him  still  to  keep  his 
family  around  him,  and,  though  luxuries  had  to  be  given 
up,  his  income  afforded  every  comfort.  We  had  a  room 
with  them,  and,  though  my  income  was  small,  we  had  all 
that  health  and  peace  of  mind  required. 

"  On  the  day  after  the  conversation  with  my  wife  about 
the  West,  she  met  me  on  coming  home  to  dinner,  with  so 
happy,  yet  meaning  a  smile  on  her  face,  that  I  could  not 
help  inquiring  what  it  meant.  As  I  sat  down  by  her  side, 
she  drew  from  her  pocket  a  small  roll  of  bank  bills,  and, 
handing  them  to  me,  said — 'There  is  the  capital  you 
want.'  I  took  the  money,  and  unrolling  it  in  mute  sur 
prise,  counted  out  the  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars ! 


OF  A  CITY   BELLE.  325 

'  Where  did  this  come  from  ?'  I  inquired.  She  glanced 
across  the  room,  and  my  eyes  followed  the  direction  hers 
had  taken.  I  missed  something.  It  was  her  piano ! 
4  Explain  yourself,  Florine,'  I  said.  *  That  is  easily 
done,'  she  replied,  as  she  looked  tenderly  in  my  face. 
4 1  have  sold  my  piano  and  watch,  my  diamond  pin,  brace 
let  and  ring,  and  every  article  of  jewelry  and  bijouterie  in 
my  possession,  but  this,'  holding  up  the  wedding  ring, 
1  and  there  you  have  the  money.'  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  I  was  affected  by  this.  But,  no  matter.  I  used 
the  two  thousand  dollars  in  the  way  proposed,  and  here  I 
am.  Come,  walk  down  to  my  store  with  me,  and  let  us 
chat  a  little  about  old  times,  there." 

I  went,  as  invited,  and  found  Merwyn  with  a  small,  but 
well  selected  stock  of  goods  in  his  store,  and  all  the  evi 
dences  of  a  thriving  business  around  him. 

"  You  must  go  home  with  me  this  afternoon,"  said  he, 
as  I  arose  to  leave  him,  after  having  had  an  agreeable  talk 
for  an  hour.  "  I  live,  as  I  told  you,  a  short  distance  in 
the  country ;  so  you  will  stay  all  night,  and  can  corne  in 
with  me  in  the  morning.  The  stage  leaves  here  at  five 
o'clock,  and  passes  within  a  short  distance  of  my  house. 
Florine  will  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

I  consented,  well  pleased  with  this  arrangement,  and, 
at  five  o'clock  was  seated  in  the  stage  by  the  side  of  my 
old  friend,  who  bore  as  little  resemblance  to  one  of  your 
curled,  perfumed,  and  moustached  exquisites — what  he 
had  once  been — as  could  well  be  imagined.  His  appear 
ance  was  plain,  substantial,  and  business-like. 

Half  an  hour's  ride  brought  us  to  our  stopping-place. 

"  I  live  off  to  the  right  here,"  said  Merwyn,  as  we  left 
the  stage,  "  beyond  that  piece  of  wood.  Ten  minutes' 
walk  will  bring  us  to  my  door.  We  prefer  the  country 
for  several  reasons,  the  principal  one  of  which  is  economy. 
Our  cottage,  with  six  acres  of  ground,  costs  us  only  fifty 
dollars  a  year,  and  we  have  the  whole  of  the  land  worked 
on  shares  by  a  neighbour  ;  thus  more  than  clearing  our  rent. 
Then  we  have  plenty  of  fruit  and  milk  for  ourselves  and 
children,  and  fresh  air  and  health  into  the  bargain." 

"But  don't  Mrs.  Merwyn  find  it  very  lonesome  out 
here?"  I  inquired. 

28 


326  TWO    SCENES    IN    THE    LIFE 

"  Oh,  no.  We  have  two  children,  and  they,  -with  a 
very  clever  young  woman  who  lives  with  us  more  as  a  friend 
than  a  domestic,  although  we  pay  her  wages,  give  Florin e 
plenty  of  society  through  the  day,  and  I  come  in  by  night 
fall,  and  sometimes  earlier,  to  make  the  evenings  all  she 
could  wish.  At  least,  I  have  Florine's  own  declaration 
for  this."  The  last  sentence  was  uttered  with  a  smile. 

As  we  walked  along,  the  nearness  of  my  meeting  with 
Mrs.  Merwyn  turned  my  thoughts  back  to  other  times. 
A  beautiful  girl  was  before  me,  languidly  reclining  on  a 
sofa,  overcome  by  the  extract  of  some  sweet  herbs,  the 
perfume  of  which  had  fallen  unharmoniously  upon  the 
sense.  A  hot-house  plant,  how  was  it  possible  that  she 
could  bear  the  cold,  bracing  atmosphere  of  such  a  life  as 
that  she  was  now  living  ?  When  last  I  saw  her,  she  was 
but  a  tender  summer  flower,  on  whom  the  warm  sun  shone 
daily,  and  into  whose  bosom  the  night  dews  came  softly 
with  refreshing  coolness. 

Silently  I  walked  along,  with  my  mind  full  of  such 
thoughts,  when  an  opening  in  the  woods  through  which 
we  were  passing,  gave  me  a  glimpse  of  a  woman's  figure, 
standing  on  the  second  rail  of  a  fence,  and  apparently  on 
the  look-out  for  some  one.  The  intervening  trees  quickly 
hid  her  again  from  my  view.  In  a  minute  or  so  after 
ward  we  emerged  from  the  trees  but  a  short  distance  from 
the  woman  I  had  seen,  who  was  looking  in  another  direction 
from  that  in  which  we  were  coming.  We  were  close  upon 
her  before  she  observed  us.  Then  the  voice  of  Merwyn, 
who  called  "Florine !"  startled  her,  and  she  turned  upon 
us  her  beautiful  young  face,  glowing  with  health,  surprise 
and  pleasure.  I  paused  in  astonishment.  Was  that  the 
indolent,  languid  city  belle,  who  could  scarcely  sit  erect 
even  with  the  aid  of  cushions,  now  standing  firm  and 
straight  on  a  fence-rail,  and  looking  more  lovely  and  grace 
ful  than  she  had  ever  seemed  in  my  eyes  ? 

She  recognised  me  in  a  moment,  and,  springing  from 
the  rail,  came  bounding  toward  me,  full  to  overflowing  of 
life  and  spirits.  Grasping  my  hand,  she  expressed  the 
warmest  pleasure  at  seeing  an  old  face,  and  asked  me  a 
dozen  questions  before  I  could  answer  one. 

I  found  them  occupying  a  neat  little  bird's-nest  of  a 


OF    A    CITY    BELLE.  327 

cottage,  in  which  were  two  as  sweet  little  children  as  I  have 
ever  seen.  While  I  sat  and  talked  with  Merwyn,  holding 
one  child  upon  my  knee,  and  he  the  other,  Florine  busied 
herself  in  getting  the  supper.  Her  only  domestic  was 
away.  Ever  and  anon  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
passed  in  and  out  of  the  adjoining  room  where  she  had 
spread  the  table.  A  very  long  time  did  not  elapse  before 
I  sat  down  with  my  old  friends  to  a  meal  that  I  enjoyed 
as  well  as  any  I  have  ever  eaten.  The  warm,  white  bis 
cuits  were  baked  by  Florine ;  the  sweet  butter  she  had  her 
self  churned,  so  she  said,  and  the  cakes  and  preserves 
were  her  own. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  all  this,"  said  I,  after  tea.  "  How 
is  it  possible  for  you  to  be  cheerful  and  happy  under  such 
a  change  ?  How  was  it  possible  for  you  to  come  so  effi 
ciently  into  a  mode  of  life,  the  very  antipodes  of  the  one 
to  which  you  were  born,  and  in  which  you  were  educated?" 

"  Misfortune,"  replied  Merwyn,  "  brings  out  whatever 
is  efficient  in  our  characters.  This  has  been  particularly 
the  case  with  us.  We  had  both  led  artificial  lives,  and 
had  false  views  of  almost  every  thing,  when  at  a  blow  the 
golden  palace  in  which  we  had  lived  was  dashed  in  pieces. 
We  were  then  thrown  out  into  the  world,  with  nothing  to 
depend  upon  but  our  individual  resources,  which  were,  at 
first,  you  may  well  believe,  exceedingly  small.  The  sud 
denness  with  which  our  fashionable  friends  turned  from 
us,  and  the  entire  exclusion  from  fashionable  society  that 
followed,  opened  our  eyes  to  the  utter  worthlessness  of 
much  that  we  had  looked  upon  as  of  primary  considera 
tion.  The  necessity  of  our  circumstances  turned  our 
thoughts,  at  the  same  time,  to  things  of  real  moment,  the 
true  importance  of  which  grew  daily  more  apparent.  Thus 
we  were  prepared  for  other  steps  that  had  to  be  taken, 
and  which,  I  am  glad  to  say,  we  were  able  to  take  cheer 
fully.  We  now  lead  a  true  and  useful  life  ;  and  I  am  sure 
Florine  will  join  me  in  saying  that  it  is  a  happier  life  than 
we  ever  led  before." 

"  Yes,  with  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  young  wife.  "  I 
have  good  health,  good  spirits,  and  a  clear  conscience; 
and  without  these  no  one  can  be  happy." 

"  Still,"  remarked  Merwyn,  "  we  look  to  growing  better 


328  TWO    SCENES    IN    THE 

off  in  the  world,  and  hope,  one  day,  to  be  surrounded  by 
at  least  a  portion  of  the  elegance  and  luxury  of  early 
times.  But  until  that  day  comes,  we  will  enjoy  the  good 
things  of  life  that  fall  to  our  lot ;  and  should  it  never  come, 
we  will  have  lost  nothing  by  vain  anticipations." 

When  I  parted  with  my  old  friends  on  the  next  day,  I 
felt  that  their  lot  was,  beyond  comparison,  more  blessed 
than  it  would  have  been  had  not  misfortune  visited  them  ; 
and  wished,  from  my  heart,  that  all  who  had  met  with 
similar  reverses  would  imitate  their  good  example.  Still, 
I  wondered  at  the  change  I  had  seen  ;  and,  at  times,  could 
hardly  realize  its  truth. 


THE    END. 


UN 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEC 


REC'D 

OK4-65-4P! 
LOAN  DBPT, 


APR  2  9 1984 
CIR  JUL 1 7 1984 


MAR  1  ?  '69  -7 

UOAN  DEP" 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


